The Source and Inheritance Program
by Ivee Waterlilly
Summary: "Welcome, Treville, to the Source and Inheritance Program." Perhaps fate had brought them all together, but it was keeping them together, safe, healthy, and functional that was going to be the real struggle. Not all of them get along, not all of them are as thrilled about super powers as Aramis, and perhaps the loss involved is too much. AU
1. Chapter 1

Treville hadn't a clue what was in store for him when little arms wrapped themselves around his legs and a man, a very angry man, clicked his tongue and ordered the little figure back to him with a loud bark. A dark head of curly hair was all he could spy as he looked down in concern, but the little arms wrapped tighter the closer the angry man got. The man stalking his way towards them was short and stocky; his build was good, probably went to the gym a few times a week. He was a dirty blonde, from what little hair was left on his head after a sharp buzz cut. His cheeks were turning red from the agitation and sharp movements—of Nordic descent, most likely.

There was a strange sort of buzzing in his head, Treville noticed—the kind one gets after a thrill ride.

"Herman, that's enough." A voice ordered behind him, echoing slightly in the drafty, well lit hallway. "It seems he's not so fond of you."

"Director, my apologies." The angry man, Herman, was flustered, red face changing emotions rapidly. "He won't sit still and he keeps—"

"We can't have that, now can we?" The director was old, but not so old as to be out of touch with the happenings of the world—the latest technologies and views of the younger generation. He held himself well and there was a wise look to his eye. He was certainly a man of prowess. "Treville, the boy has taken a liking to you. Mind him well."

That was all that was said and the click of expensive dress shoes on tiled floor echoed down the hall until the man was gone, leaving the still flustered Herman to stare back at him.

"Thank god." Herman breathed. "They dumped this kid on me two weeks ago. He's nothing but trouble. Sorry, but I'll happily give him to you. He's needed in lab four in ten minutes and if you're lucky the scrubs in there will only yell at you a little for being late."

"Wait—hold on a minute." Treville looked back down at the boy's unruly hair and he hadn't moved an inch. "I just got transferred; I don't even know where lab four is. And who is this kid?"

Herman frowned. "Look, I know the director likes you and all—hell, a lot of the big wigs around here were talking about you, but don't expect me to believe you don't know what's going on. No one gets in without being debriefed and trust me, it's one hell of a debrief. I didn't believe it at first either. What kind of world is this that they believe some kid can give people super powers?"

"Super—hold on, what did you just say?"

"Is this a test? Really?" Herman huffed, handing him a manila folder over the kid still tightly wrapped around his knees. "You've sure got guts. I transferred here four months ago so if you're looking to screw with another new guy, it ain't gonna be me. Just get him to the lab."

With that the man stalked his way down the other side of the hall, opposite of the director, muttering under his breath about "privileged newbies". Once he was gone and it was just Treville, dumbstruck, with a kid wrapped around his legs and a manila file awfully close to being dropped and the contents spilled all over the floor of the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" He asked, to himself mostly. Frowning, he stared down at the kid. He hadn't moved and Treville was wondering if he could shake off the little guy. "Hey, he's gone now. You can get off of me."

The mop of hair snuggled further into his thighs and two legs curled their way around his. A monkey climbing a tree is what it looked like. Heaving a sigh, Treville dropped the folder, uncaring of its contents at the moment and struggled to remove the human parasite that had attached itself to him. It wasn't easy; the boy's limbs were strong, but no match for his well trained muscles. He picked the boy up from underneath his armpits and stared at the round eyes glaring back at him.

"Who are you?" He asked, as if the boy was just another adult walking around the facility.

The boy kicked out his legs, narrowly missing Treville's tie, before sticking his tongue out at him.

"I see. You don't have a name, is it? I suppose I'll have to make one up for you."

The boy blinked at him, surprised. Scrunching his face into one of displeasure, he kicked out again. Treville merely held him out further from him. It was an awkward movement and the boy nearly slipped from his hands.

"Perhaps a girl's name. Babette, is it?"

"No." The boy answered, squirming. "My name isn't Babette!"

"Ah, it can speak." Treville teased, swinging the boy around in a quick circle to disorient him. "Although Babette is a good name. If you have no name, I'll give you that one."

"Aramis!" The boy cried. "It's Aramis!"

Smirking, Treville put him down and ruffled his hair. "Well then, Aramis, you're supposed to go to a lab four?"

"I'm not going." Aramis kicked out again, landing a hit on Treville's shin before booking it towards an exit. "You can't make me!"

Reaching out, he snagged the back of the boy's shirt and tugged him back hard. The boy gagged a bit as the collar of his shirt wrapped around his neck. Catching him back up into his arms, though held far from him as to avoid any more kicks, Treville looked the lad in the eyes. He was scared, Treville realized.

"Alright, listen," Treville spoke softly, remembering the yelling Herman had done before. "I'm new here. I don't know who anyone is, or where anything is, or who you are. I don't know why I'm supposed to mind you or even how to do that. So maybe we could work together, yeah? Instead of going to this lab four, why don't you and I sit here and you tell me everything you know."

"Why?" the boy—Aramis, he corrected, asked. "All the other grown ups know things."

"I'm new, remember? I need your help."

"You're not gonna make me go?" There was a twinkle of hope in his eye and Treville couldn't bear to see it snuffed out. "You won't drag me when I stop watching you or pick me up?"

"I promise I won't." Slowly, Treville lowered Aramis to the floor, crouching down to eye level. "How about you lead me? You show me where you want to go?"

Aramis thought about it a moment, eyeing him jadedly. "I can't."

"Why not?" Treville frowned, doing his best not to get frustrated. Of all the things to be landed with, it was a child. How long was he supposed to watch him?

"Cause I wanna go home, but they won't let me." Aramis wiggled his toes against the cold tiles and it was only then that Treville noticed what he was wearing. The kid was barefoot, wearing a white tee and what looked like hospital issued shorts—a thin cotton covering a thin frame.

"Why?"

Aramis snapped his head up, confusion written on his face. "They think I'm special. I can't do what they want me to do and it hurts when they poke me with the needles."

He recalled what the man, Herman, had said earlier; a kid who could give people super powers. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"Are you special?" Treville asked, out of sheer curiosity. The answer he got surprised him.

"Only when I want to be."

A door opened at the end of the hallway and Treville stood back up. Aramis leaned down and picked up the file, emptying the loose contents to the floor. Immediately the boy set to work gathering the loose papers and piling them back up again. The director reappeared, having looked a little put out.

"You'll have to excuse me, Treville, for my earlier rudeness." The director came closer, giving Aramis a quick look before meeting Treville's eye. "I was unaware that they hadn't given you the usual welcome. We aim to fix that. I see you and Aramis are getting along. Good, yes, very good. Aramis?"

The boy stopped gathering papers, looking up at the director from his hands and knees on the floor.

"Ninon needs to see you in lab four, now. Treville and I need to have a talk."

"I don't want to go." Aramis huffed, continuing with his work. "This guy is nice and he promised I didn't have to go."

"Did he?" The director gave a look before coughing gently. "I suppose you'll miss out on your family visit tonight."

That caught the boy's attention. "Mom is here?"

"I'll let her know you're busy. She came a long way to see you."

"Fine, I'll go!" He agreed hurriedly. "Number four?"

"Number four." The director confirmed. "Don't run and be good for Ninon."

Aramis stood and gave the two of a conflicted look before walking quickly down the hallway where Herman had left previously. Treville couldn't help but feel guilty. Was emotional manipulation the only way to handle the boy?

"Now, Treville, if you'll follow me." The director led him out the other door, the manila folder forgotten on the tile floor and the once scattered papers lay in small, neat piles next to it.

The walk was long and Treville felt antsy. For such a large place, there seemed to be so few personnel. The facility seemed cold and lifeless, and it was for lack of a better word—chilling. Quiet had never been a good thing in Treville's experience. Quiet meant a hidden danger and the way the director walked so rigidly, Treville wasn't sure he could rule out the man as harmless.

They arrived in a small office—one not nearly as big as Treville expected for the director of a facility not many knew existed.

"Welcome, Treville, to the Source and Inheritance Program." The director took a seat behind a desk, bidding him to do the same. "This facility is top secret—only a handful of people working outside of the facility know what and where this is. It should be said that we like to keep it that way."

The underlying threat did not go unnoticed.

"This facility houses currently 31 medical staff, 42 of the best trained guards the world has known, 6 kitchen staff, 7 administrative staff, including myself, and 13 of the brightest minds we know of."

"And the kid." Treville supplied helpfully.

"No," the director answered coldly, "Aramis does not exist. He is not here, we do not know of anyone by that name, and this facility is simply to test out classified genetic theories that could benefit mankind in the future. We know nothing of anything outside of our research."

A moment of tense silence, and Treville sat back in his seat with a sigh. So they had sent him to one of those facilities. The next information to be revealed to him was going to get ugly. It always did and this was not the first time he'd been sent to guard some dark hidden blemish in France's history of experimentation—be it with torture techniques, bombs no one knew anything about, or a new energy resource.

"I assume you brought me here because I've had experience in these types of facilities."

"It helps, but no." The director leaned forward on the desk, hands folded. "You were brought here because you've got something you don't know you have."

"A proper explanation would be appreciated." Treville answered tightly. Enough with the riddles and the mind games. He knew how this worked; he wasn't going to jeopardize any secrets—Lord knew he knew too many already.

"Two years ago there was a rumor in the countryside of a young woman who could make it rain. Most waved it off as some hoax to improve tourism in the area. Funny enough, someone took a closer look. They brought the woman in, tested her so-called ability, and it yielded no results."

Interesting, but what did it have to do with him?

"They released her, called her a fraud, and left it at that. Two days later the rumors came back two-fold and it seemed there was a little more to the story. The woman was so angry at being accused of fraud that she threatened to flood the entire town. The next day it rained so hard it flooded the town; twenty dead. Needless to say, her claim was taken more seriously the second time around. All they got out of her was a looping apology. "I've taken too much." She said. "I'm sorry Corinne, I've taken too much.""

"Is there a point to this tale?"

"The woman was never able to do it again and was thrown into jail. Three weeks later, there was a rumor in Germany of a man who could grow things instantly. Much of the same thing happened, this time, only one casualty and it was his brother. Over the past two years we've had over 37 reports of people with abilities—powers if you will."

"Super powers." Treville furrowed his brow. "You think I can do that? I can make it rain or grow things?"

"Yes and no." The director leaned back in his leather chair and it squeaked a bit as he moved. "This program has been formed to study those who can do things they aren't supposed to. Our research has come up with rather interesting results. Every single case of someone using powers of some sort has had someone close to them die. Why?"

"Misuse of power?" Treville guessed.

"A sound theory, but incorrect. It turns out people aren't suddenly born with powers. No, something far more mysterious is occurring. A power source is needed to generate a power. There are two kinds of people out there with abilities. One who can use the ability and one who can supply it."

The director let it sink a moment, Treville's mind racing to catch up. "A power source… what happens when it's used up?"

"They die." It was said with such surety, a cold and calculated truth. "I've taken too much, that woman said over and over again. She's repeating it to this day as she rots in a jail cell. There are Sources, Treville, and then there are what you are; Inheritors. Not everyone can use a Source and fly or shoot lightning bolts. No, this world is anything but easy."

There was a bitterness there, and Treville realized the director was envious of him. He wanted to fly. He wanted to shoot lightning bolts.

"You can't?"

"No," the director let out a short laugh, "no, I'm not an Inheritor. I'm not a Source either; just a regular man walking this earth with the fascination of it all. To think what the world could do with this power—both destroy itself and turn it into a utopia of wonder. But we aren't there yet, no. We are a long, long ways from that."

"I don't understand. You brought me here because you think I'm a… what? Source?"

"Inheritor." The director corrected, leaning forward once again. "So far we haven't had a single match last. Curious things, these Sources. Every one of them ends up dead. They are a battery that doesn't know how to turn itself off. Rare, to boot. We've only got a handful and we've been searching for a very long time."

"That kid—Aramis—he's being experimented on? A child?" There was accusation in his voice he didn't even try to hide. To mess with a kid was sick.

"His mother brought him to us, believe it or not." The director answered with a hint of a smirk. "She was smart to do so. We aren't the only ones who have noticed something odd happening in the world. Sources and Inheritors, while they don't know what they are, have been causing trouble and gaining a bit of attention. Not everyone looks at them as people. Many seek to use them for their own gains."

"And you don't?"

"As far this facility goes, no. What happens to them outside of this facility is no longer my control. There are many powerful figures who agree with my stance to keep a lid on things. We don't know much about them, and without further knowledge, it's dangerous for them to be set loose."

"Human guinea pigs then? And I'm supposed to agree to become one?" Treville stood, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I'm not interested."

"If you would sit down, Treville, and hear what I have to say you may change your mind."

That tone again—dangerous with a hint of amusement. A sickening feeling down in his gut told him he'd regret walking out without hearing everything. Besides, they'd already told him too much for him to refuse them. If he left, went home to forget about such a god forsaken place he'd end up disappearing off the face of the earth. A tragic accident, perhaps, two days later when his body would be found in a river or planted in a crashed car. No one in one of these facilities got to walk away with the truth.

He'd been lucky enough to have walked away after guarding a few of the less… extreme ones. Hesitantly, he took a seat.

"That boy, Aramis, was brought to us nearly six months ago by his mother. She came crawling to us after her home was blown up by someone who had noticed her little boy acting a little bit strange. Aramis is a Source. He can give powers to Inheritors, like you, and he did. His school friend suddenly found himself with the ability to speak another language. Harmless, curious, but even more so that little Aramis is still alive and kicking."

"You said his mother brought him here." An explanation, more than anything.

"Yes, she did. I'm afraid you haven't been paying attention. Not one Source has survived. Not a single one, and here that boy has survived giving another child the ability to speak another language."

"What makes him different?"

"Precisely." The director stood, now, and walked around his desk to lean on it. "What makes little Aramis different from the rest? We've tried to match him with another Inheritor. Nothing."

"Can they only give to one person? Like a soul mate?"

"Good," the director praised; "now you're thinking. No, we've had other Sources able to give to other Inheritors."

"Perhaps he isn't a Source."

"He knows he can do it. He hates this place and I'm afraid most of the medical staff hasn't the patience for children. Six years old and already he's had more exams and tests than one man has his entire lifetime. I believe he doesn't get along with the Inheritors we've sent him."

"You want me to do it."

"We picked you for a reason, Treville. Most Inheritors we let lie. We haven't enough Sources to bring them all in and they are far more common than you might think. We can't risk losing the boy either—he's the only one to survive. He's special and he knows it. He just won't let us see."

"He wants to go home." Treville said flatly. He saw the scared look in that kid's eye. He'd be damned if they wanted him to be the one to go in there, force him to give him some sort of freaky magic powers and then die.

"He can't go home." The director answered just as flatly. "Aramis no longer exists to the rest of the world and it's not safe for him to go out there. Someone wanted him, Treville, and his mother came to us to protect him. Nothing will happen to that boy as long as I'm here to oversee this facility."

"What you're asking of me…"

"I'm asking you to befriend him. Talk to him, watch over him. You're a damn fine soldier and the stats match up far too perfectly. If he trusts you—if you are able to form a bond and do something extraordinary, it'll be the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"And if he dies? If I kill him because you want to see me with super strength or laser vision?" Treville stood. "I won't murder a child because someone wants to see a freak show."

"I have no intention of letting him die." The director clapped a hand on his shoulder. "He's a survivor. He survived once, Treville, I know he can do it again."

They stood for a moment, looking into the other's eyes. Treville could sense the curiosity, the wonder of it all more so than the devious threat of using people—using what they could do to promote their own gains.

"One condition; I want out at anytime. I won't kill this kid."

"Fair enough. You have my word."

Treville held out his hand for a shake. "If this kid gets hurt…"

The director took his hand, shaking it firmly. "I'll see to it whoever caused it is buried, even if I have to bury myself."


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours later, after paperwork was signed, instructions given to one of the guards, and a badge handed to him, Treville was making his way to lab four, where a six year old was sitting on a cold bench swinging his feet to a common rhythm. The boy watched him intently as he sat down next to him. Ninon, if he remembered correctly, was nowhere in sight.

"Hey." Treville greeted, blinking a moment when that buzz came back to him—the one he'd felt before Aramis had used him as a tree in the hallway.

The boy looked away, seemingly determined to ignore him. Sighing, he leaned his head against the wall, frowning at the various equipment in the room. Surely all of this wasn't needed? There were machinery he'd never seen before and none of it looked fun. It was no wonder Aramis had such an aversion to this place.

"Do you even know what half of this does?"

The boy shrugged, breaking his rhythm for a different one.

"Is Ninon here?"

Another shrug. He must still be sore over his promise made earlier. Although to be fair, the boy agreed not because of him. Treville could care less if the boy made his appointments on time.

"She's supposed to be testing me too, you know." Treville heaved an over the top sigh. "They heard I let you off and now I'm going to get poked too."

"Not my fault." Aramis answered simply.

"No, I suppose it isn't." Treville let a silence overcome them for a while. Aramis was either the chatty type or the quiet type and it would be much easier to figure him out after he knew which.

"Why are they testing you?"

Chatty it was.

"They think I'm special too. I hate to disappoint them, but I don't think I am."

Aramis was quiet for a moment. "Frederick didn't think he was special either, but he started talking funny."

"Frederick… that your friend?"

"Was." Aramis shrugged. "Don't know now."

"He started talking funny? Why?"

"I let him. He was tugging at me and I let him—" Aramis snapped his mouth shut.

"Let him what?"

Aramis shook his head. "Mom says I shouldn't talk about it. It's gonna get us in trouble and we're already in big trouble."

"Why are you in trouble?"

Aramis stopped swinging his feet. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright."

Better to let it go and hope the door opens again later. After all, not many secrets are kept by a six year old. They sat for another fifteen minutes in silence and Treville was beginning to think he may have misjudged Aramis as the chatty type. The glass door slid open—fashioned similarly to a science fiction movie he'd seen not too long ago. A beautiful woman walked in—long blonde hair swept back into a low ponytail, curled at the end in a couple of big ringlets down to her lower back—with a purple clipboard in hand.

Her nails, painted nude to create an illusion of longer fingers, tapped the back of the clipboard to a rhythm Treville was sure he'd heard somewhere, but failed to recognize it. A popular song, perhaps, on the radio. She smiled at the two of them warmly, bright red lips complimenting white, straight teeth.

"Alright Aramis, almost done now. I know your mom is waiting for you, so I'll try to make this quick, okay?"Aramis nodded back to her and she turned Treville, an eyebrow quirked upward in playful curiosity. "You, however, are going to be here a while. Treville, is it?"

"Yes."

Tucking in her lab coat as she sat down on a stool-type chair, she rolled quickly over to a computer. A minute of her quiet typing and Aramis squirming on the bench impatiently and then she was rolling a short distance back over to them, a couple of syringes in hand. She placed them on her lap, the white a stark contrast against the black of her pencil skirt. She held out one hand, the other picking out a specific syringe filled with fluid.

Whimpering in agitation, Aramis held out his arm, already littered with small band-aids.

Ninon chuckled a moment, shaking her head. "Sorry, Aramis, these aren't for you. I'm just waiting on the results of the scan and you're good to go. Treville, your arm please."

Aramis dropped his arm quickly, smirking up at Treville as if he'd just won the lottery. Treville sighed heavily, frowning as he rolled up the sleeve of his white button up. She took hold of his arm, pushing the needle into the meat of his forearm. He hissed at the pain, quietly glaring at the doctor who pulled it back and took another in hand. She depressed three more before she was finished.

"May I ask what, exactly, you just pushed into my blood stream?"

"You needed boosters for your immunizations." She answered smoothly. "We can't have any dangers to Aramis here, despite having been immunized himself for everything in the book."

"While I'm here, I need to talk to you about something."

She gathered the used syringes into her hands, mindful of the points with practiced ease. "What kind of something?"

With a swift push, she seemed to gracefully glide in her swivel stool across the linoleum floor of the lab, depositing the syringes into a bin, snapping a pair of gloves on quickly, grabbing yet another syringe, this one quite more intimidating than the others, and rolling back.

Glancing over to Aramis, content as can be next to him, Treville studied him a moment. "I've been experiencing a strange sensation. It's a… well I suppose a sort of… buzzing."

Aramis snapped at attention next to him. Ninon frowned, moving forward and placing cold latex covered hands against his throat, feeling for something, Treville assumed.

"A buzzing… like a ringing in your ears?"

"No. Not in my ears—in my head." Treville swallowed instinctually as she prodded and stroked the sensitive area, rubbing small circles here or there. "It's hard to describe."

"Sorry, but please do your best. In a program like this we can't have anything wrong. It could disrupt everyth—"

"Is he going to be the new one?" Aramis interrupted, back straight and eyes narrow, hands fisted in his shorts. "I don't want a new one."

Ninon paused, pulling away from Treville and swiveling slightly to face Aramis, reaching out and pulling his hands into her. "Okay, I wasn't supposed to say anything, but it's because you're my favorite that I'm going to let you in on a grown up secret."  
Aramis nodded.

"This guy here, Treville, he's somebody we've been looking for. You know you've been seeing a lot of new people lately, right? Well, hopefully, he's the very last. I know you didn't like the other people, but this guy is okay, right?"

Aramis shook his head and Treville looked away awkwardly, trying to piece together what was being said.

"Aw, come on, now. Director Limon told me you prefer him over Herman."

"Herman is mean. He hates me."

"Well to be fair, you weren't very nice to Herman either." Ninon gave a small smile. "I'm going to poke him just as much as I poke you, how about that? Director Limon even invited your mom to come see you tonight because he thinks if you can become friends with Treville, maybe we can figure out how you made your friend talk funny. And do you know what happens if we can do that?"

"I can go home?" Aramis asked hopefully, voice small.

"Maybe. But maybe if you can't, your mom can live here with you. That would be really nice, wouldn't it?"

"I miss her." Aramis admitted quietly.

Ninon's face scrunched, pained and remorseful. "I know. That's why we are working so hard."

"How did you know," Treville asked slowly, "that I was going to be the "new one"?"

Aramis looked at him and blinked. "The buzzing. Every new one gets the buzzing."

Ninon looked at the both of them. "You never told me about that, Aramis."

Aramis shrugged. "It's only for a second. Sometimes the new ones don't say it but I can tell they feel it. They always start to pull after."

"Pull," Treville repeated, "you said that before too."

Ninon's thin eyebrows furrowed. "What kind of pull, Aramis?"

Aramis shrugged again, growing shy. "I'm not supposed to say. Mom said I shouldn't talk about it."

"But you remember that your mom brought you here so you'd be safe, right? We need to know so we can figure this out." Ninon pushed back, grabbing her clipboard before swiveling back forward. She pulled off her gloves with soft snaps and tossed them to the floor to better grip her pen. After a moment of scribbling, she nodded back to Aramis. "Can you please tell me about the pulling?"

Aramis was hesitant, tense in every muscle of his little six year old body. "I don't want mom to be mad."

"We'll tell her we made you, okay? I'll tell her right away. She knows we're here to help keep both of you safe and I really want her to be able to live with you again, okay? I promise I'm going to do everything I can to make that happen."

Looking down at his small fists curled back into the fabric of his shorts, Aramis nodded. "It's like a pull on my insides. Frederick did it the first time."

Patiently, the two of them waited for him to go on.

"I thought I was sick because it felt the buzzing, but the nurse said I wasn't. And then I felt it again and Frederick was looking funny. He was looking at me and I didn't like it so I told him to stop. He stopped and so we played tag but it happened again and Frederick asked me why I was pushing him. But I was far away. That's when he started talking funny."

Aramis's fists tightened, fingers turning pale under the pressure. Treville shifted uncomfortably next to him, unsure if he was supposed to offer any sort of comfort. He didn't have much experience with children and it wasn't even his kid. He didn't know this kid hardly at all but it was as if the kid was telling some deep, dark secret.

"It was funny, at first. But then I started to feel sick and the pulling was happening and I didn't like it so I prayed for it to stop. That's when it happened."

"What happened?" Ninon prompted quietly, near a whisper.

"I didn't mean to hurt him and it hurt me too." Aramis explained desperately, exactly how a child his age would before admitting to a naughty deed and awaiting to be punished. "But there was a string coming out of me and it was scary so I cut it with my fingers."

"A string?" Ninon scribbled frantically. "What was it made out of?"

"Light." Aramis answered sullenly. "So it was easy to cut it with my hands. I didn't know it was going to hurt."

"A string of light." Treville shook his head. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"It's true!" Aramis huffed, standing up to face him, expression rapidly changing from timid to anger. "You're the stupid new one who hasn't pulled yet! You can't see it if you don't pull!"

"Pull? What am I supposed to pull? What does that even mean?"

Aramis seemed to deflate. "I don't know. I don't know how you do it; I just know not to let you pull the string out."

"Aramis, what do you mean when you say he hasn't pulled yet?" Ninon asked, leaning in close to them.

With a shrug, he turned away from Treville. "They always pull at me. I don't like it and so I don't let them pull."

"Does it hurt? When they pull at you?"

The boy scrunched his face, almost confused at the question. "I don't like it."

"But does it hurt you?"

"No." Aramis bit out quietly, "It doesn't hurt but I don't want them pulling at me."

"What happens if you do let them pull at you?"

There was a heavy silence that overtook Lab Four for a moment before a loud beep send Aramis heading for what Treville deduced was a printer. Grabbing the many papers, he started for the glass door, which slid open with a quiet hiss. Ninon sighed, watching the boy leave without a word of protest. Treville studied the woman for a moment.

"What did any of that mean?"

The blonde doctor turned to him, glancing over her notes on that vibrant purple clipboard.

"To be honest, I'm not absolutely sure, but I think he just described in his own words the process for sourcing an Inheritor." Ninon heaved another sigh, pushing back in her swivel stool once more to the back of the lab. "I've got to let the director know he's on his way."

It was several moments of the doctor relaying information quietly into the phone before she swiveled back to him. To be honest, Treville was already tired of the damn stool. The rolling was really starting to grate on his nerves, and after having what seemed to be a nonsensical argument with the boy he'd been trying to befriend, his patience was beginning to run thin.

"Alright, let's get started. We've got far less tests than Aramis usually has, but nonetheless, it's quite a few. We'll start with blood and work our way up from there, alright?"

"How long is this going to take?"

"Longer than you want." She deadpanned.

"That kid's mom—why don't you ask her all of these questions?"

"She knows as much as the rest of us." She grabbed his arm, wrapping some sort of rubber around it before swiping him with alcohol.

"Perhaps a little more, but she's as normal as they come. You, however, are not so normal."

"Why are the two of them separated?" The agitation was bleeding into voice and he tried not to wince as the needle sank into his skin. He watched for a moment as his blood was being drawn before following up with his question. "Are you just using her as incentive to cooperate?"

"Far from it." Ninon answered sharply, withdrawing the needle. She seemed to realize she'd forgotten to put on gloves, swiveling back to grab another pair. "It's as much for her protection as his. In every Source we've come across, it was someone close to them who ends up draining them into nothing."

"You said she's normal."

"We have a formula for finding Inheritors genetically, but there are still some that bleed through. Not every Inheritor has a genetic marking. Trust me, we're doing all we can to reunite that boy with his mother. It's just not safe until we can determine how you tick. What makes an Inheritor? What makes a Source? Why can you do things and why can they allow you to do things? Where does this power come from? What side effects does it have on the user? On the provider?"

"I get your point." Treville turned his hands up in resignation. "Just run the tests. I have no energy for this tonight."

"You know," Ninon grabbed one of his hands, holding it for a moment until Treville met her eyes, "this is your life now. This isn't going away and it's too late to back out now. Whether it's with Aramis or another Source, you're just as much a part of this program as I am. Just remember that we all have a common goal, alright? We're trying to figure this out so little boys like Aramis aren't dead on a playground somewhere because a little Inheritor girl figures out she can make fireworks."

"Something tells me it's far more than just that."


	3. Chapter 3

It was days before he saw Aramis again; Ninon had run test after test that made him feel like he'd joined the military all over again. They'd gone through just about every length they could go to—including grabbing sperm samples, much to the embarrassment of Treville. Ninon had promised him that what he was going through was far less intrusive than what they'd done to Aramis, but Treville had a hard time believing that.

He sat exhausted in a rather uncomfortable chair—though it was cushioned and had perfectly positioned arm rests—and waited for Ninon or whoever else to come tell him he was perfectly healthy. He'd seen a total of four different doctors, none quite as gentle as Ninon, however. Strangely enough, the woman who was most direct with him seemed to care the most.

The door, squeaky and heavy, opened slowly and Aramis entered, Director Limon close behind. They made their way to him, Aramis eying him suspiciously, but his body language told him the kid was relatively relaxed. Once again, he felt that buzzing high for a second.

"Treville," the director greeted with a nod, "good to see you're doing well."

"Yes." Treville stood, knowing he was going to be led into another lab room. "You wouldn't happen to be here to tell me there will be no further testing, would you?"

The director laughed. "I'm afraid not. However, this will be quite a different test. Aramis has agreed to test you out."

"Test me out, huh?" Treville sighed, gesturing to the door. "Lead away then."

The boy didn't say a word, opting instead to stare him down. Treville quirked an eyebrow and shifted his weight, waiting patiently for Aramis to do something. It was a couple long minutes of silence before he spoke up.

"Is there something on my face? Let's go do this test."

"He's doing it now, I think." Director Limon provided, keeping a close eye on the two of them.

Aramis was stock still, eyes trained on Treville. Eventually after another couple of minutes the boy deflated, shoulders hunched and pout adorning his childish features.

"I don't get it." Aramis huffed. "You aren't pulling."

This again.

"I already told you I don't understand what that means."

"From what Aramis has told me, it's always been an Inheritor who has initiated this… exchange of power." The director leaned over, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Is that right?"

"I always keep the string. They try to pull it out." He said very matter of fact.

"Treville, do you see a string? Something perhaps only you can see."

Leave it to the director, ever curious over this whole thing, to feed into the kid's… whatever it was he was doing. Not exactly making up a tale, but this whole string of light had to be something else. Shaking his head, he looked back at Aramis, looking him over for any sort of "string". Nothing.

"I don't see anything."

Aramis stomped his foot. "It's there, just look harder!"

"I thought you hated the pulling?"

The kid opened his mouth to most likely unleash his fury upon Treville but the director crouched low, hand still on Aramis's left shoulder.

"Then, perhaps it's just you who can see it. Maybe it's because you're the special one."

"All the others pulled at it. They pulled and pulled but I wouldn't let them have it." Aramis explained, exasperated. "I don't think he's a new one. He can't be. He doesn't pull."

Director Limon was quiet for a moment, wrinkled face relaxed despite the tension between a six year old and thirty-two year old. Pulling his hand from Aramis, he clapped his hands together.

"Is it you who pushes first? Remember what you told me about Frederick? You said he told you to stop pushing, and then he started to pull, right?"

Aramis looked at the older gentleman a second, biting his bottom lip. "The buzzing. The buzzing happens first."

"Did you buzz, Treville?"

It sounded absolutely ridiculous; but despite the childish wording that sounded like a euphemism for something, he nodded.

"For a second."

"And you, Aramis?"

He nodded.

"What came after? Come on, we'll start slow."

"They pull. I stop them."

It was simple. Two simple little phrases that Treville knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. He had no idea what the hell—

What the hell was that?!

It was like something was reaching inside of him—fingers inching in slowly and just sitting there in his belly. He visibly started, hands reaching down and around his middle. Nothing was there but he could still feel it, almost barely noticeable now. A push—he could understand now how a kid could confuse it as a push. It was an unsettling presence around his middle before it settled in as something natural—something now a part of him from the inside.

"Treville?"

"Something just happened." Unwrapping one hand, he pointed it at the kid as if he was a father scolding his son. "Whatever you just did—it's incredibly unsettling."

Aramis frowned, brown eyes narrowing. "I didn't do anything!"

"You did. It feels like your hands are inside my stomach. If it's not you, it's him, and I don't think it's him."

The director stood, wizened eyes wide in wonder. "Is it painful?"

"No. It's creepy is what it is. Although now I hardly notice it." Treville relaxed, reclaiming his normal posture. "Is this what you did to all the others? It's no wonder they pulled at you. No one likes creepy little boy fingers playing with their insides."

"No one else said that." Aramis shot back, hands in little fists. "No one else said anything about hands."

"What did they say?" Treville challenged, struggling to feel if those little hands were still there.

"They didn't say anything. They just pulled."

"You can't feel that? You don't feel like you're touching me at all?"

Director Limon encouraged quietly; "Try to concentrate. You might not realize you're doing it."

The boy closed his eyes and bowed his head, messy hair—not quite in curls today but fluffy enough—falling in front of his face. It took several minutes, but Treville could feel the hands—not really hands, but a presence move. It slowly moved up, reaching his heart and then moving left to his shoulder and eventually down his arm to his hand.

"So you can feel it."

The boy stayed quiet, though, and the presence grew in his left hand. A sort of handshake, Treville realized, and tried to concentrate on it. If the boy could will whatever it was to move, perhaps he could do the same thing somehow. Holding out his left hand, he closed his eyes. It took a moment, just like it had for Aramis, but he could feel something; a warmth, bleeding into his hand. It felt nice, almost tingly, but not quite strong enough at that level.

He tried fisting his hand, tried to picture grasping that warmth in one place. Once he felt like he might have done it he pulled his fist back, pulling at that warmth. Instantly the presence, the warmth, left his hand. He snapped his eyes open to see Aramis was backing away from him; pout once again back on his face. His hand went slack and any sensation he could have felt of "pulling" on something was gone.

"Did you do it?" Director Limon asked, voice breathy in excitement.

"I think so. Was that what you meant? Was that pulling?"

Aramis nodded, keeping his distance. Nodding himself, Treville sat back down in that uncomfortable seat. He took a moment to breathe, to process what had happened.

"You stopped it though. If you stop it, that's good right? I won't pull—I don't even think I can unless I feel your creepy little hands."

"They aren't creepy." Aramis mumbled, leaning against the wall opposite of him, still looking quite put out.

"I didn't see that string of light you talked about though. Whatever that is, I can't see it."

"Interesting. Very interesting." Director Limon started to carefully wring his hands—perhaps a habit of thinking more than nervousness.

"We've made great progress already. Aramis usually spends about five minutes with an Inheritor before storming out and refusing to work with them. The fact that he's still in the room says a lot, Treville."

It didn't feel like it. Aramis clearly saw him as a threat now instead of just some dumb guy who couldn't understand what the kid was talking about. Whatever this string of light was—whether it was something that could grant powers or not, Aramis had a hard grasp on it and he wasn't going to let go anytime soon.

"You could both feel whatever it was that was going on?"

"I think so. You moved it—your hands or something. Did you do that with the others?"

"I didn't do anything with the others." Aramis replied. "They just pull."

"Right, well, maybe I'm different. I still don't really understand what pulling is. I felt it—whatever that was—in my stomach. But you moved it to my hand."

Aramis was still, clearly thinking, and Treville wasn't sure the kid entirely knew what just happened either. Director Limon gave them time to think; to feel and recover from the exchange of… they really needed to come up with a name for it.

"I thought about shaking your hand." Aramis said after a short time. "I closed my eyes and I could see you, so I tried to shake your hand."

Treville laughed. He startled the boy, who was obviously being sincere, but he couldn't help it. So that's what was happening. It was so absurd. A week ago he was taking orders from a high ranking officer, guarding some military outpost near Spain and now he was standing in the same room as a child who admitted to try to shake his hand with little creepy energy hands.

What was he doing with his life?

"Don't laugh!" Aramis cried indignantly, face turning a bit pink from embarrassment.

"Sorry, sorry." Treville waved a hand, trying to quell the few chuckles still breaking through. "I just wasn't expecting that. A handshake, is that what you'd call it?"

"Perhaps it makes more sense to Aramis. A handshake is how we say hello, is it not? Tell me, exactly what happened when you two closed your eyes?" Director Limon waved the boy closer but Aramis stubbornly shook his head, sliding down the wall to sit on the other side of the small waiting room instead.

"He moved his creepy hands—"

"That's not what it is! I don't put my hands inside you."

"What do you call it, then? This thing you do to me but not to the others?"

"I don't know." The answer was so bitter Treville was beginning to regret calling the kid creepy.

"Alright then, he moved it up," Treville traced the path with a finger for visual representation, "and around, down my arm, and into my hand. I grabbed it and—"

"Pulled." Aramis finished, slightly smug. An "I told you so" if the kid was ever going to give one.

"Yeah, pulled." Treville reluctantly agreed.

"Fascinating. We've never heard any of the other Inheritors say anything about this."

"And what do they say?" Treville was curious. He can't have been the only one to feel this. He didn't understand how anyone could pull on Aramis if they didn't feel something.

"Ah, now this may be quite telling." The director took a seat next to Treville, a small "oof" as he sat told of his growing age. "The other Inheritors have already had a Source. Sadly, none of the Sources survived the encounters. We've taken in quite a few Inheritors, but as we need to be especially careful with Aramis, we've only let a handful see him. We only put them together for a few minutes. Young Aramis here always stormed out and to say the least, the Inheritors always had no idea what had happened."

"They were pulling at me." Aramis explained—as if he had to. As if no one was going to believe him even still.

"Yes, yes," Director Limon raised a hand gently, "but they had no idea Aramis was even a Source. Just as Aramis had no idea they were Inheritors. You're the first to have met him beforehand. We always do check ups before and after. Neither of them had any changes, but when we asked the others about the experience, they always knew Aramis was a Source afterwards. During and before, not a clue, but afterwards, as if remembering something, they always asked if he was a Source."

Curious indeed.

"I have a growing theory."

Treville wondered exactly how many theories the director had. Then again, this was his program, so he supposed the man had been running things here for quite some time. With some of the brightest minds in the world—as he'd boasted upon their first meeting—to back him up and test these theories, Treville supposed it was a miracle they'd even figured out what Sources and Inheritors were.

"I'll go back and review the tapes of their first encounters with their own Sources, but perhaps it's instinct to try and draw from a Source. I'll bet they weren't even aware they were doing it. With Aramis, maybe this really was a handshake. This was you and him feeling each other out. Please, if you will, try it again."

Aramis made a noise of protest.

"I won't pull." Treville promised, although he wasn't sure if it would be kept. He had no idea what he was even doing. "But maybe you could try the hand first instead of my insides."

Aramis took a moment to pout before reluctantly closing his eyes. Treville wasn't sure he could do it so far away, but moments later, he felt that warmth in his hand again.

"I feel it."

"Good, good. Can you do the same? Can you reach out to him?"

"I don't think so." Slowly, Treville lifted his left hand. "It's warm, and I can try to do what I did again. I can try to touch it."

Director Limon reached out, shakily putting his hand on top of Treville's. Instantly the man retracted it, as if burned. Concerned, Treville moved his hand away from the older man.

"No need to worry—it was a minor shock."

"A shock?" Treville eyed Aramis, still sitting quietly, eyes closed. He appeared to not notice anything.

"Understandable." Limon nodded to himself—Treville was beginning to suspect that those who were near brilliant were also near mad. "It's the transfer of energy. You've got an incredible amount of energy in your hand right now."

Experimentally, Treville touched his left hand with his right. Nothing. His left hand could feel warmth, but his right felt no temperature difference, no static, nothing. Closing his own eyes, he concentrated back on the energy, squeezing his hand. It wasn't a pull, but it was best he could do for a sort of energy handshake.

The warmth left and Treville opened his eyes to find Aramis staring back him. There was no disgust on his face, no offense taken to what he'd just done and honestly Treville felt a bit relieved. He didn't want to cause the kid any discomfort.

"Amazing." Limon breathed. "How do you feel Aramis?"

"Fine." A short reply, but once again, there was no snarl waiting to happen.

"And you Treville?"

"The same."

"Great. Alright," The director stood, nodding once again to himself, "we'll take a break. Lunch should be about ready and I've got some things to attend to. This is very promising boys. We'll pick this up again later."

"We have to do it again?" Aramis scrunched his nose.

"Yes. I suspect all evening if you can keep it up. This is very important."

"Don't we get any say?" Treville eyed the director, feeling for any sort of sign that the rug was about to pulled out from under them.

"You have an objection to this?"

Glancing back at Aramis across the room, he couldn't deny he was curious. If they'd gotten this far, what was the next step? Powers? Wouldn't that kill the kid?

"As long as it's what we've been doing. I don't want to move any further."

Not without making sure he wasn't going to kill the boy who was only just now starting to get comfortable with him. Limon stared him down a moment.

"Sounds fair. There is no need to rush things if you aren't ready." Clapping a hand on Treville's shoulder, as goodbye, the director made his way to the door. "Make sure to eat lunch."

The door squeaked loudly open and then shut and Treville was left with Aramis, who was quickly shuffling back up the wall to a stand. The boy looked at him funny for a moment and Treville quirked an eyebrow at him.

"The door is too heavy and I'm hungry." Aramis provided as if it made all the sense in the world.

With a heavy sigh, Treville stood, pulling the door open with a small grunt and letting the runt squeeze past, doing a strange little skip-run that only six year old boys do when told not to run down the halls. Shaking his head, once again Treville asked himself what exactly his was doing with his life.


	4. Chapter 4

It became obvious to Treville that Aramis had most of the staff wrapped around his little finger. Every guard they'd passed to and from lunch greeted Aramis as a little brother, fist bumps and secret handshakes usually. The kitchen staff had his lunch ready for him, loaded up with what they had called "extra snacks for later".

One of the staff, an elderly woman eyed him suspiciously. She was pleasantly plump, a natural sight for most women her age these days. Her gray hair, pulled back neatly into a bun, had streaks of white in it, almost taking on the look of a husky dog's fur. Her hair was covered with a black hair net, keeping it neatly in place.

"Haven't seen you around here."

"He's a new one." Aramis explained for him, seeming eager to talk to the woman. "He doesn't know anything so I have to tell him where to go."

Not true—at least not much anymore. Treville could for the most part find any room in the building he'd been instructed to go to. There were signs—some cleverly misnamed to throw off any visitor that didn't have the authorization or privilege to know what was going on down here.

Treville merely shook his head and let the boy say whatever it was he wanted. In this facility, it was obvious the kid had top priority and arguing against six year old logic was only going to spell unnecessary hardship for him. Better to be liked by those who cooked his food and poked him with needles than try to assert his authority over the child.

"That so?" The woman's gaze never left him, her suspicion steady. "Well, what's his name?"

"Treville." He said before Aramis could. He'd rather not the boy be spouting out any other name for him—nickname or mispronunciation alike.

"Well, Treville, we've got rules here. Clean up after yourself and there'll be no trouble. No asking for anything special, no extra helpings, and especially no stealing from the kitchens. Any of my staff catching you poking around where you're not supposed to be and you'll be feeding yourself from then on."

"Understood." Treville had to stop himself from saluting—a habit formed now in the face of a stern voice and rules being placed upon him.

"I'll be in your care madame."

With a curt nod she handed him a tray full of food and he thanked her politely. Aramis grinned at him when he turned around.

"What?"

"Madame likes you." Aramis told him. "She's very nice. And Monsieur Serge is the cook. I don't get to see him much, but sometimes he writes something to me in ketchup."

"I see."

They sat and ate lunch in relative silence. To his surprise, there were only two others in the small cafeteria. The kitchen staff were clanking around in the back, talking hushed to each other and every once in a while. Occasionally there was a loud barked order, but for the most part it stayed quiet.

"Where is everyone else?"

Aramis shrugged, stuffing some sort of cracker in his mouth. Treville didn't push it and finished eating in silence. He followed Aramis's lead in cleaning up, depositing the trays near the trash—very reminiscent of a fast food restaurant. Aramis made his way back up to the counter where Madame had been, reaching up and ringing a little bell. Immediately one of the kitchen staff appeared, dark hair pulled back in a bun and covered by a hair net. She was young and pretty, large doe eyes a grey onyx color.

"Ah, Aramis, what is it?"

"Can I see Madame?" He asked, on his tip toes to see over the counter that came up to his chin.

"I'll get her for you."

They waited a minute before the old woman shuffled up to the counter. She leaned over, a smile on her face.

"Thank you Madame. Can you tell Monsieur Serge it was delicious?"

The head of the kitchen staff leaned even lower, placing a gentle kiss on the boy's forehead. "Of course. Go on now, I know you've got lots to show your new one."

Aramis turned and waved goodbye, making his way out of the cafeteria. Treville turned to follow but Madame called out for him. Stopping, he watched Aramis pittering off somewhere without him, but looked back to the old woman, waiting to hear what she had to say.

"That boy is a treasure monsieur." She said, tone serious. "You may it hear it a thousand times, but not one of us employed here are ever going to forgive anyone looking to hurt someone like him."

"With all due respect, madame, I have no intention to—"

"I've seen people hurt with no intentions." She cut him off, eyes narrowed. "I've seen innocent souls torn to pieces by people with no intentions. It's not your intentions I'm worried about monsieur. I've seen some walk in and never walk out because of what someone else did to them without knowing they were even doing it. Whether you mean to or not, we're not a forgiving bunch."

"Treville!" Aramis peeked through the doorway, impatient from on his face. "Why are you not coming?"

"Sorry, I'm coming." He glanced back at Madame, nodding to her to convey he understood, and followed the boy out and down the many halls it took to get back to that waiting room he was dreading.

As soon as they arrived they were met with Ninon, who ushered them back out. She led them down more halls, two lefts, a right, another left, and two more rights, before they were brought to a lab—bigger and far less… medical than Ninon's own Lab Four.

It was very much empty. There were a couple of chairs; one of which Director Limon was sitting in at the far left corner, looking over some sort of file. There was one piece of equipment Treville had no idea what was for on the back wall and a fire hydrant on the floor close to the door.

"What's all this?" Treville waved a hand at the room in general, looking to Ninon as the director seemed not to notice their entrance—so focused on what was in front of him. Ninon offered a strained smile.

"It's just a precaution. This is the room we normally use for Aramis to meet Inheritors."

"And what's that machine do?"

"That would be something we use to measure the energy transfers." Director Limon spoke up. "This entire room is reinforced in case of an emergency. After all, we are dealing with energy. Energy tends to be a bit… unpredictable."

Great. There was lab in case the both of them exploded.

"I thought we weren't moving forward?" Treville couldn't help the testiness bleeding through. He was anxious, especially after his rather one sided talk with Madame.

"We aren't; not unless you want to. This is mostly so we can measure the energy as you two shake hands." Limon gestured to the two remaining chairs in the room. "Please, sit, we've got a bit to discuss before we start again."

Aramis immediately climbed into one of the chairs, legs swinging once again to a common rhythm with his hands under his thighs. He looked as calm as could be, despite being so on edge not more than two hours ago when they had first "shaken hands". Leave it to a kid to be over something so quickly.

Limon dragged his chair from the corner over to theirs in the middle of the room, Ninon leaning against the door. The chair made a terrible screeching noise as it slid metal legs against steel flooring. Once seated, the director cleared his throat and began.

"After this morning I went back to some of the other Inheritors we have here on hand. After reviewing their stories and adding what we know from your experience, I've concluded that what you experienced is not unique to you. Well, some describe it a bit differently, but in essence, it was the same."

"The handshake?" Treville quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Yes. It seems for every new Source Inheritance there is some form of feeling each other out for energy. After that, however, it seems to become second nature." Limon turned to Aramis, placing a gentle hand on his knee. "Aramis, this might be why they don't know that they are pulling at you. They can't help it."

Aramis frowned. "But I don't like it."

"I know. So why don't we practice it some more, huh? Then Treville will learn not to pull at you, okay?"

Shrugging was apparently enough consent for the director as he snapped the file shut, tossing it to the ground. That seemed to be the normal treatment for files in this facility. Elbows on knees, Limon leaned in close between them.

"Alright. So let's try the handshake again. This time, let's see how long you can feel each other's energy. Aramis, don't let it go unless you absolutely can't anymore, okay?"

With a gentle nod, the boy closed his eyes. Ninon quickly left the room, letting the door click shut behind her. She must be watching the results—or perhaps just watching from a different room. Treville could spy three cameras in the room, not so cleverly hidden, but at the frankness of the program and its staff, Treville wasn't really expecting it to be.

The presence was back, blooming into his hand and Treville squeezed back on it, closing his own eyes. It seemed like ages had passed before the warmth left his hand. Opening his eyes, he saw Aramis slumped in his chair, rubbing at his eyes and yawning loudly. To the left, where Director Limon had been was empty. Treville hadn't even heard him leave. Glancing toward the door, Treville waited patiently for someone to appear. Sure enough, in moments both Limon and Ninon were entering, faces beaming in astonishment.

Limon had sheets of paper in his hand and he eagerly sat back down in his seat and picked one out. Laying it on the floor in between the three of them, he pointed to a blue line across what seemed to be a thermal image of them sitting in their chairs.

"It's absolutely incredible."

Aramis peered at it carefully. "What're those things?"

"That big one there is Treville, and this little one here is you. And this," Limon made sure to point with his fingers so the child could clearly see what he was talking about, "is what I believe is that string you were talking about."

Squinting at it Treville could clearly see the line. "So it exists?"

"It exists." Ninon answered, pulling out another couple of pictures. "We measured out the energy and there's a big spike on you, Treville, and a big dip in Aramis. This confirms the Source gives to the Inheritor."

"I thought we knew that already."

Limon shook his head. "We did. This is very different from the data we've collected from the other Sources and Inheritors. Before, there was a simple give and take. The Source gave until they didn't and the exchange never lasted long. The powers—"

"Super powers?" Aramis piped up, eyes wide in excitement. "Like fire and super strength?"

Limon licked his lips nervously. "Yes, exactly like that. But listen, Aramis, it's very scary when this happens. You remember when Frederick could talk funny, right? You started to feel sick."

"Because he was pulling."

"Right. Well other people pull at people just like you. When they pull, they are able to get super powers."

"Director—" Ninon protested.

"He's ready to hear this." Limon cut off. "But just like you, those who get pulled at—we call them Sources—they get sick. So we are trying to figure out why they get sick. That's why we have to be very careful with what we do here. I don't want you to get sick and neither does Treville or Ninon. Do you understand?"

"I think so. But can I get super powers?"

Limon smiled. "I'm not sure. Do you want to find out?"

"Yes!" Aramis jumped to his feet, wobbling a second on unsteady legs. "I want to fly! Flying is the best!"

"We've got to be careful, remember? If you get sick then you definitely won't be able to have super powers."

Treville was silent, unsure of what to say. He wasn't on board with manipulating the kid like this, but they all were dedicated to keeping him alive. A survivor, Limon had called him. It made Treville sick, to know what he was surviving.

"When do we get to see? I want to see them!" Aramis had been a relatively withdrawn kid, but it seemed just like any normal child a bit of wonder perked him right up. "Can we do it now?"

"No." Treville answered.

Aramis pouted at him, visibly deflating. "Why? Don't you want super powers?"

"Weren't you listening? It can make you sick—really sick and we've done enough today."

"Aramis," Ninon said slowly, "why don't we go take a quick scan, alright? Let's let Director Limon talk to Treville."

Stamping his foot, Aramis huffed and followed Ninon out of the lab, complaining all the while about Treville's cranky pants. Treville sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Focusing back on the director, he too leaned his elbows against his knees.

"You were saying this was different. Why?"

"You mean about the energy signatures." Pointing back down at Treville's thermal shape on the picture, he traced the line back to Aramis. "In all the other failed cases we've had, the draw is huge, producing powers right away and creating an astronomical boom in energy to the Inheritor. The opposite effect happens to the Source. There was no line like this, it happened way too fast."

"Exactly how long are we talking?"

"The Sources died within minutes. We couldn't trace any sort of line like this due to the explosion of power within the room." Limon sat up straight, an amused grin slowly lifting the man's features. "You two sat here for over three hours."

"Three hours?" Treville shook his head. "That's impossible. Minutes, maybe, but hours…?"

"We can roll the tapes if you'd like. Listen, Treville, you two are breaking grounds we could only dream of. Never has a Source lasted this long. It's a miracle in itself that he can even describe to us what it feels like."

"I'm not going to hurt this kid. It's great that we've gotten this far but we're going to end up killing him. I'm going to end up killing him."

Limon leaned forward again. "There's danger to this, yes, but if you draw from him and not kill him, we can save more of them. This isn't just about Aramis anymore Treville. More Sources and Inheritors are turning up and if this continues, there will never be a Source to survive this."

"I know what you are saying and I can understand the intentions, Director," Treville looked him in the eye, "but I will not be part of killing that kid."

"He's willing to try, so why aren't you?"

"He's six. You say super powers and he'll sell you his soul for a chance at them." Treville found himself getting louder. "He's doesn't know what he's signing up for!"

"If you don't try, he will die." Limon answered back coolly. "He's willing to work with you where he's denied others. You're the very first to have some sort of control over this. You don't just draw from him on a whim. He's cautious. He's knows how to protect himself. It's how he survived the first time. IF you throw this away, he'll choose someone else who I can guarantee doesn't have this control. They will accidentally bleed him dry."

"He shouldn't have to try at all." Treville argued. "Just let him live with mother somewhere far away. He won't have to take an Inheritor, he can just live a normal life."

"That won't happen. This is catching on, Treville. Other governments are picking up on the fact that they can build an army of super powered soldiers. And they'll do it. They won't care if it bleeds someone like Aramis dry because if it means they win whatever war they fight, it's an unfortunate casualty of war."

Treville took a moment of silence, closing his eyes. Limon let him think for a moment before adding in what was the final nail in the coffin.

"You can save this boy. He trusts you, Treville. Don't let him down."

With that he was left in the lab to ponder a decision he really didn't want to make.


	5. Chapter 5

Late the next morning he left his room in the facility and made his way to the designated lab they had been in the previous afternoon. Ninon was already there, talking in hushed tones to Aramis, sitting back in the chair he was in yesterday. Treville took his own seat, ignoring Aramis watching him intently.

"Alright, we're going to just practice the handshake a few times. Then maybe we can go on, okay?" Ninon glanced back at him, her hair swaying slightly at the motion. "This is about keeping both of you safe, so let's not rush anything."

"Talking funny is a dumb power. I hope we get good ones." Aramis said, pulling his hands under his thighs. "Like flying or super strength."

"Focus, Aramis, and we'll get there when both of you are comfortable."

"Kay."

Ninon left and Treville closed his eyes only after Aramis did the same. The warmth was back in his left hand and he squeezed it gently.

"Hey."

He snapped his eyes open, looking at Aramis who was grinning at him. The warmth was still in his hand and he furrowed his brow in confusion. Didn't the kid need to focus?

"My birthday is coming up. Let's show my mom something cool, okay? I want her to know I can do cool things."

"Aren't you supposed to focus?" Treville asked, leaning back more comfortably in his chair.

"I don't need to anymore. Do you still feel it?"

"Yeah. Can you still feel me?"

"Yeah," Aramis started to swing his legs, looking rather bored, "you aren't pulling. Can you choose to pull?"

"I think so. You want me to try?"

Pulling was fine. Aramis could stop the pull if he really wanted to.

"Okay. Don't do it hard."

"Okay."

He fisted his left hand and pulled gently. Aramis hissed out a breath and Treville stopped. After a moment Aramis nodded again; Treville pulled again gently, his elbow knocking against the back of the chair. He kept his hand fisted though, feeling the warmth in his hand intensify a bit.

" _Whatever you're doing, stop. This is yielding weird results._ "

An intercom. How handy. Treville let go and Aramis frowned, letting his legs fall still.

"Why did you stop?"

"Ninon said to stop." Treville answered. "Didn't you hear her?"

"Yes but I think something was happening."

"What kind of something?"

Aramis shrugged, swinging his legs again. "You should pull again."

"Don't you hate it?"

"Not when you do it. It doesn't feel bad when you do it."

Damn this kid. Just yesterday he was giving him dirty looks for "pulling" and now he was being encouraged. If this turned out bad…  
Treville fisted his hand again, feeling the warmth start to steadily intensify. It was almost like a heat building up, but a heat that didn't burn.

His hand felt jittery, as if it needed to do something.

" _I mean it, stop! We don't know what's—_ "

In an instant something blue appeared around his hand. It was transparent, yet solid, slowly growing in mass outward. Treville instantly shot up out of his chair, knocking it backwards in the process. He held his hand out, still fisted, and watched with growing awe as it formed a circle, slowly starting up his forearm.

"Cool!" Aramis exclaimed, up out of his own chair, reaching out to touch it. "What is it?"

" _Treville, stop!_ "

He opened his hand and the blue… whatever it was… vanished. The warmth in his hand remained but at a much lower intensity. It felt like the normal handshake they had briefly gotten used to. Aramis blinked a couple of times rapidly before sitting suddenly on the floor. He giggled a bit.

"I feel funny."

Shit! Instantly Treville was kneeling next to him. "Stop the handshake. Drop the line, Aramis!"

Aramis blinked up at him and frowned, but the warmth was gone and Treville breathed easier. He gathered the boy into his arms and squeezed him tight. He sent a small word of prayer to whoever was listening in thanks.

"Aramis!" Ninon cried, opening the door and coming to their sides quickly. "Are you alright? We need to get you into—"

"I could have killed you!" Treville pulled back and shook the kid for emphasis. "We're not doing that again. God, I could have…"

"Let him go, Treville. We need to make sure he's okay."

"Why are you yelling? I'm fine!" Aramis shook him off and backed away a foot or two, sliding across the steel floor. "You did something cool. I want to do something cool."

"No, Aramis, we need to make sure you're okay. C'mon, let's get you into my lab. We need to make sure you aren't sick."

"I'm fine. I don't feel sick." The boy protested. "I want to do something cool. Let's try again."

Treville snapped. "Listen to me, this isn't a game. This… whatever it was that I just did… it takes away energy from you. If I take too much, you aren't just going to get sick. You'll die. Are you listening? Die. You won't get to see your mom again."

"Then why did you say I was going to get sick?" Fat tears were welling up in the kid's eyes and little fists balled up. "Why didn't you say I could die?"

"We didn't want to scare you. C'mere." Treville pulled on the boy's leg, dragging him closer, and pulled Aramis back up into his arms. "I stopped though, right? I stopped pulling so you're going to be okay."

"But it was cool."

"I don't want to do cool things if you die."

Ninon sighed. "Let's go, both of you. We need to check out both of you and make sure everything is fine."

Hoisting Aramis into his arms, he followed Ninon into Lab Four, reluctantly following orders to take an insane amount of tests. Four hours later and they were sitting back in what Treville deemed the Testing Lab waiting to discuss what happened with Director Limon.

The director was stoic, and sat down stiffly. Aramis was curled up with a blanket in his chair, messy hair, dark eyes, and a small nose being the only things peeking out. Treville was beginning to want a blanket too. Director Limon let out a heavy sigh, thumbing through some leafs of paper in that ever growing file of his.

"This is… absolutely incredible. I am very sorry to have missed it. I've played the tapes over a hundred times and it still amazes me."  
Treville stared him down. He hadn't known the director—as short a time as he'd known him—to be a joking man.

"I won't lie to you Treville, you are probably one of the best things to have happened to this facility."

"I could have killed him."

"And you would have." Limon nodded. "Aramis wasn't dangerously close, but had it continued for another minute he might be in critical condition. You didn't, though. You did what only Aramis himself has done and it's changed everything."

"Are you going to ignore that I could have killed him?" He was starting to grind his teeth, working on keeping his temper in check.

"I am not ignoring it, I am praising the very fact that we can say could at this very moment." Limon shook his head, thumbing through more paper. "Every past incident ended with death and here you two are, still very much alive. I was content to keep it slow, as you wished, and hope for the best, but I never expected you to attempt—"

"We weren't trying to." Treville explained. "Aramis wanted me to pull, so I pulled. I only agreed because I knew he'd stop me if he didn't like it. Just like he's done before."

Treville eyed Aramis who was content to just listen quietly, most likely hoping to keep out of trouble and let Treville take the fall if it came to it. Ninon opened the door, seeing herself in. Treville wasn't sure if she was invited but it seemed she really didn't care.

"Please don't misunderstand," she started, staring Treville down, "what you did was incredibly risky. The both of you. Even when I specifically told you to take things slow."

Aramis sunk a little further into his blanket.

"However, what the director is saying is correct. The both of you are relatively fine, and this is far better than we expected. Medically speaking, I can track Aramis's condition through another round sourcing. As long as we are careful, as his doctor I can support his decision to try again."

"I don't think you understand what you're asking of me." Treville sighed in frustration. "We can be revolutionary all we want, but that doesn't stop the danger. I didn't even realize what was happening halfway through. If you hadn't said anything, Ninon—"

He cut himself, counting to ten in his head. The sick feeling in his stomach hadn't left since the incident. The director sighed himself, tossing his file to the floor—an act Treville would never understand. He was going to have to pick up later, so what was the point of just throwing it on the ground?

"I can cut the string." Aramis was barely heard through his blanket. "It hurts a lot."

Right. Recalling Aramis's tale of his first encounter with sourcing, Treville wracked his brain for details. The kid just cut the string with his fingers like it was nothing. It sounded like nonsense at the time, but now…

"That brings up my next point. After analyzing the footage, I've got a theory."

Of course he did. Director Limon was a never ending walking theory. There was a small smile on the old man's face and Treville glanced at Ninon, also looking to the director with curiosity.

"Treville, the second you opened your hand that bubble vanished. What made you open your hand?"

Treville crossed his arms, resituating in his seat. "I was told to stop."

"Exactly." Limon wagged a finger knowingly. "You stopped. Not Aramis. You pulled, not Aramis."

"Your point?"

"I see." Ninon grinned, obviously excited. "You're saying Treville controls the flow of energy."

Oh…

Oh.

Treville started, brows furrowed. "I've taken too much…"

"Precisely." Limon looked to Aramis, still hiding. There was no response from the boy; not that they really expected him to understand the line of thought. "I believe it's the Inheritor who controls the draw, but it requires the Source to start the link."

"Establish a line of energy exchange." Ninon kneeled down, grabbing the file and sorting through it. She licked her finger every once in a while to leaf through the various papers easier. "This explains why you were able to go for so long yesterday but today Aramis was worn out within just a couple of minutes. You weren't pulling—drawing energy from him. You just maintained a line of energy exchange."

"If this is true, then I'm able to stop anytime I want?"

Ninon closed the file without taking a single sheet of paper out, huffing softly. "Not only that, but if what Aramis said was true about his friend Frederick and the string, even if you don't stop, he's figured out a way to stop it himself."

"It hurts when the string is cut." Aramis told him, very much as if he hadn't been heard earlier.

"All this time and we never knew there were fail safes built into the both of you." Limon chuckled softly. "Years of research and here we are with nearly all of the answers."

"Director, if we can teach other Inheritors how to do what Treville does there should be very little death in the future."

"If it can be taught." Treville put up a hand. "I'm not even sure what I'm doing. I could have easily taken everything."

"Look, I understand you're overly cautious, but you need to stop the self pity party. You've succeeded, so why are you so certain you've already failed?" Ninon scolded, tossing the file back on the ground.

"I could always fail."

The two stared each other down for a moment. Limon reached down, grabbing the file and thumbing through it again. The air was tense and Aramis squirmed in his chair, poking his head a bit further out of the blanket.

"Is mom coming to see me on my birthday?"

"Of course." Limon nodded, smiling at the boy. "She wouldn't miss it."

"Can we show her what we can do? I want to show her something cool." Aramis turned doe eyes on Treville. "Please?"

Damn this kid.

Heaving another sigh Treville looked at the six year old sending every ounce of hope in his little body over to him. He'd seen some intensely horrible things—some noises trigger grotesque memories—and he had braved them with a stoic demeanor. Stiff upper lip, he'd been taught.

Nothing cannot be overcome.

Nothing.

Except an annoying six year old who just wanted to show his mother he can give a grown man some strange sort of power _at the cost of his own health._

"You're tired. If we show her what we just did, you're going to be taking a nap halfway through her visit."

"We can practice." Aramis shrugged. "I practiced at climbing and I don't get tired easy anymore when I go down the slide."  
Treville could feel a headache coming on. "It's not the same thing. I don't think this works that way."

"We won't know unless you try." Ninon pointed out brusquely.

"I promised you that you could leave this program at any time. Now would be that time, Treville, if you are going to." Limon leaned in close to him, lowering is voice into a fake sort of whisper. "But I think there's a little boy who desperately wants you to stick around."

"Please?" Aramis tried again, blinking a few times for exaggerated effect.

"Only if you promise to cut the string the second you feel funny. No waiting this time." He took on an authoritative tone. "And I'm not promising anything after your birthday."

"Promise."

And Treville could tell he meant it.


	6. Chapter 6

In terms of practice, Treville agreed to twice a day—once in the morning and once in the evenings. It gave Aramis time to nap in between and recoup some strength. As for the powers… well to be honest Treville still wasn't sure what it was. They analyzed footage for two weeks but the limited time they had for it to manifest due to Aramis's short stamina limited time to actually mess with the thing.

It was always a pale blue, translucent, and solid. It grew slowly, though that was more Treville's doing. He was afraid of growing it fast, keeping a watchful eye on Aramis just in case the kid decided to go back on his promise. Ninon was constantly watching for signs as well and they hooked the boy up to a few monitors just to be triple sure. Aramis was true to his word every time, speaking up when he was getting a little light headed.

Over two weeks they practiced before Aramis's birthday came. He was giddy, eagerly dragging Treville this way and that to show him the place he always saw his mom, where they were going to show her the "cool thing", and where he slept at night. Treville just let him, knowing it was easier to distract the boy until the lady of the hour showed.

It was mid afternoon when Director Limon walked in with a short woman, dark hair loose in waves down to her mid back. She was plain, not overly beautiful, but pretty enough. Not everyone had a drop dead gorgeous mother, although Treville couldn't help but be a tad bit disappointed. From the way Aramis bragged about his mom he'd unknowingly gotten his hopes up. He was still single after all. Come to think of it, Treville wasn't sure if Aramis had a father around.

Dread filled him at the thought of becoming a replacement. He'd only known the kid for three weeks and already the little boy had crept into his heart and made himself a home. He couldn't be a father though. That was one responsibility he wouldn't be able to fulfill to the best of his ability. He remembered his sister talking to him about his brother-in-law.

 _"No man is ready for fatherhood. But put a baby in his arms and suddenly he's more overprotective than his own wife!"_

They had laughed about it then, but the more Treville watched Aramis hug his mother, laugh, and kiss her it felt as if fatherhood was encroaching upon him whether he wanted it or not. The woman was dragged by a tiny hand over to him and suddenly Treville's mouth was dry. He had no idea how to introduce himself, what to say, or where to look. Did he look at Aramis? Did he look at her? His hands were beginning to get sweaty.

"This is Treville! He's my Inheritor!" Aramis sounded so proud; beaming up at him like the now seven year old held some sort of responsibility over him. "We're gonna show you something cool, mama. Come on!"

"Hold on, hold on." She laughed, leaning down to kiss him again. "I want to talk to your Inheritor for a few minutes, okay?"

"He's boring to talk to." Aramis told her flatly. "He's bossy and he hates doing the cool thing."

Treville reached out and shoved him, watching the boy stabilize himself and grin back at him.

"Just kidding. He's okay. Sometimes he says something weird."

"Go." Treville ordered, pointing to Limon. "You know what has to be done."

Pouting, Aramis reluctantly left his mother's side and sought out Ninon, who put down her piece of cake to grab pieces of equipment used to monitor Aramis's vitals and helped him put them on.

"I'm sorry for my son." Aramis's mother said quietly, offering a small smile. Her accent was distinctly Spanish and it surprised Treville. "He can be very good, but he is very stubborn."

"No, it's all right. I'm slowly getting used to it."

"I'm Vera." She offered a dainty hand and Treville took it awkwardly, realizing too late his hands were definitely sweaty. She discreetly wiped her hand on the back of her shirt, disguising it as adjusting the hem of the green blouse. "Has he been well? I don't… I'm not allowed to see him very often."

"Allowed?" Treville eyed the director across the room. "That isn't right."

"It's dangerous if I come too often. Our house—" She nearly choked on the words and he could tell she was nearly overwhelmed with the hardship. "it was bombed. They found out, somehow. I want to see him everyday but if they knew…"

"Who?"

She looked up at him in shock. "They do not tell you? It is the French government. Not all know about this place."

"The French—no. No, they didn't tell me." Treville's tone turned dark, sentences clipped. "I'm sorry about your loss."

"I had to bury him. We had a funeral…" She watched her son intently, eyes watery. "It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

"Your husband?"

"No. My son." Vera corrected. "It was to make sure no one knew. I had to keep him safe. My husband passed in the bombing."

"I'm sorry."

"This is all I can do for him. He's my everything now." She turned to him, blinking away tears. "Are they treating him well?"

"Yes. I make sure of it."

"Good." She nodded, wiping at her eyes. "Are you happy here? With him? They told me last month they were bringing someone in to help him."

Well, he wasn't sure helping was the right word. Every time they practiced it was sucking life out of Aramis and Treville wasn't sure it was ever going to get easier to think about.

"Yes." It wasn't necessarily a lie. "We make things work."

"Now! C'mon!" Aramis called, waving them over. "We're going to show you now!"

"Before we do that," Treville wasn't exactly sure what to say to her in warning, "how much about all of this do you know?"

Vera looked at him in surprise. "Everything. I make them tell me everything."

Right. Taking a deep breath, Treville followed Aramis into the Testing Lab. Vera was allowed to sit inside—Aramis's idea, of course. He needed her to see up close and personal what he could do. She appeared to be nervous, not that Treville blamed her. He was far more nervous than she was. If he screwed up…

Aramis was glowing, sitting in his own chair with the biggest grin he'd seen on the kid's face since he'd first seen Treville's powers. He felt the warmth in his left hand and gently squeezed back. One more deep breath and he began to pull slowly, gently.

Aramis watched in fascination as that blue returned to his hand, growing slowly and steadily until it was a perfect circle around his closed fist. He held out his arm—just as Aramis instructed him beforehand—so that Vera could get a good look at it. He didn't dare look at her, kept his eyes solely on Aramis. This would be the time that the kid got a bit over zealous and failed to speak up.

But, a minute and twenty seconds later—a whopping ten seconds longer than yesterday, he told Treville to stop. Opening his hand, the bubble dissipated, and Treville let himself nervously glance at Vera. She had her hands to her mouth, eyes crinkled in an emotion he couldn't quite place. Was it happiness? Horror?

"Oh, baby, that was amazing!" She praised, opening her arms up. Aramis immediately jumped up and threw himself into her arms, laughing all the while. "That was so amazing."

"See? I told you it was something cool! We've been practicing!"

"You're doing so good!" She squeezed him tight, rocking back and forth. "I'm so proud of you."

Treville let out a breath slowly, allowing all of the tension to leave his shoulders. Aramis pull back from her and babbled on.

"And I'm not even that dizzy! I don't feel sick at all and I won't die."

So much for lost tension; his muscles immediately cramped back up. Vera looked at him briefly from the corner of her eye but otherwise ignored the dangerous declaration.

"I love you so much. I'm so proud of you." She kissed his head again and put her thin hands on his cheeks. "Happy birthday Aramis. Let's go eat some cake."

"Kay!"

The rest of the afternoon was spent blowing out candles and opening presents. Not to Treville's surprise, most of the staff had bought him something. Treville found no sign of any other Inheritors or Sources, however. It was unsettling.

It was close to the afternoon's end when Vera tugged on the back of his shirt—a loose white tee he'd had for years. It was one of the few times he let himself wear casual wear, much preferring something with a bit more class and structure.

"Can I speak with you?"

Treville nodded, holding out an arm in gesture for them to speak in an area a bit more privately. She chose out in a hallway from the conference room they had set up the party in. Aramis was happily fiddling with a few of his toys, content in just experiencing something new in a facility he'd been cooped up in for over six months.

"My son, he's an incredibly bright boy. He understands things you wouldn't think he would." She started, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "But he is easily swayed and convinced. He is too eager to please, despite his stubborn nature. I worry."

She glanced down the hall in both directions, leaning into him secretively. Treville fought not to back away. He knew this talk was coming.

"I am unsure of the intentions of these people against my boy. They are protecting him, but I cannot bear it if they use him." She reached out tentatively, grabbing one of his hands in hers. "I need you to watch out for him. I know you are a good man. Doctor de Larroque… she tells me you are very protective of his safety."

"I would never forgive myself if I caused him pain." He assured. "I won't do anything to hurt him."

"When they told me what he was… what people like you do to him… I nearly grieved his loss then." She took a shaky breath, meeting his eyes. "I never imagined someone so kind would come along to save him. I thought they would use my son until there is nothing left and I'd have to bury him twice."

He couldn't bear the grief in her voice and took her hands in his. "I promise that won't happen. Not as long as I can protect him. Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"I can't take him from here. They will find us and kill him."

"Then I'll stay and watch him. This is… this is very new to me." Treville admitted. "I've never dealt with something like this and I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing."

"They are going to send me away soon." Vera told him quietly, seriously. "I won't be able to visit him and he's going to think I've abandoned him."

"What?"

"They are nervous I'm going to endanger this place. I've come too often, they say." She laughs bitterly. "They don't want me around to say no. I was afraid, Treville, but if you can say no if they try to…"

"They won't do anything I wouldn't do to my own son."

"Good. Good. Then he is safe." She took a shaky breath. "Come, we are missing the end of the party."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know." She smiled sadly at him before reentering the conference room, scooping up her child and kissing him on the cheek.

Aramis squealed happily, kissing back. It broke Treville's heart to know that this could very well be the last time mother and son were reunited. He'd been bound by more promises now. A child had changed his life and something was definitely going on behind the scenes. There was a lot on his plate and vaguely Treville was reminded that he'd used to be a relatively free man in the military, working honestly to gain rank. He was loosely hunting for someone to settle down with after a few years; he was going to get a dog at some point.

Now his life consisted of a strange bubble that could appear around his left hand and a little boy who made it happen. Ninon found him staring from the hallway and handed him a drink. Whiskey, he found out rather quickly.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"Fine. It's him I'm worried about. It's hard to be separated from a parent."

Ninon gave a soft sigh, leaning against the wall with her own glass of whiskey. "I've fought their separation from day one. It's cruel, but if it keeps both of them safe..."

"So is it Limon who insists, then?" He had to be careful. Bitterness was starting to bleed through and after the news he'd just received, Ninon may or may not be as trustworthy as she seemed.

"He's one of them. He may be the director of this place but we had to gain the attention of many powerful people to keep this place going. It takes money to run this facility and those who provide it want results. The loss has been staggering until now. You're something of a hero around here."

"Which means unwanted attention from said parties."

A snort. "Unfortunately, yes. But honestly? Limon does his fair share to keep things under wraps. He tells them what they need to know. It's probably going to blow up in his face one of these days but we all know where the eyes of those people are at."

"War. Personal gains. Abuse." Treville muttered, taking a swig.

"Exactly. We need to move quickly. The sooner we have a handle on what you can really do and how this all works the better. One step ahead of them means a greater sense of security. This peace won't last forever. Sooner or later those big wigs are going to come storming in here demanding custody of you, Aramis, and everyone else."

"Is there a fail safe?"

"Suicide." Ninon answered seriously. "Just like Pandora's box, once opened it doesn't go away. You're lucky you're here instead of somewhere else. There are rumors of Spain's attempt to figure all of this out. They take a very different approach."

"I'm sure they do." He took another drink. "But I'm still not convinced this is the paradise you claim it is."

"No, not a paradise, but somewhere safe for now."

"You've been keeping Vera in the loop?"

Ninon took a swig her own drink, looking at him. "She say something? We've got a pretty tight bond. Call it maternal instinct."

"She trusts you." Don't screw it up. The message was left unsaid but it was Ninon understood.

"And I trust you."

"Then answer me a question." Treville turned to her, boxing her in on two sides. "Where are the other Inheritors? The other Sources?"

She quirked a brow, face kept neutral. "Why do you want to know that?"

"I want to know that at the end of this I'm not going to end up a corpse wheeled out of here and burnt into ashes to keep it under wraps."

Ninon took another drink. "Everyone is kept separate unless there's a need to bring them together. We decided that was best from day one for Aramis. I don't oversee the others, but from what I know they are doing well. Some are more… damaged than you are. Most of them have already had a Source and drained them dry. We'd rather not lose our only living Source."

"We aren't allowed to see them?"

"Perhaps when we know what Aramis can do, but for now it's a health risk. No one is being strapped down and tortured, if that's what you're thinking."

Thumbing the rim of his glass, he thought carefully. "How many others are there?"

"Seven." She answered immediately. "You're the eighth. We don't keep them here unless they've somehow drawn attention to themselves out in the world. Inheritors themselves aren't dangerous unless paired with a Source. Usually by the time they are dangerous, the danger is over."

"Why keep them then? They don't have a Source; they aren't dangerous."

"We still need the information they provide. We keep the government from throwing them in jail or worse, and they tell us their stories. Every detail they have given us has gotten us to this point. Without them, there'd be no Source and Inheritance Program."

Treville sighed heavily, taking another swig. "Alright. As long as they are being cared for."

"We aren't monsters here. Just honest people taken in by the idea that somehow the world is changing. We'd like to know why and how."

The party ended; Aramis and Vera were allowed a small moment of privacy, both of which left them tearful, and Vera bid goodbye. Aramis himself had come up to him, hugging him and nestling a face into his stomach.

"Thank you." The boy said, muffled into his tee.

"You're welcome."

"Are you gonna stay?"

"As long as I can." Treville promised.

* * *

Treville stared back at the nine year old grinning up at him across the lunch table. The boy's hair had softened its curls, opting for a weird wave that still ended up in his eyes. Instead of the mop of hair strewn here and there Aramis had parted it in the middle, letting it grow out a bit to hide his ears.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Treville didn't believe him. It was always something with that boy. Shaking his head, he stirred his soup once, twice, and lifted his spoon to his lips. His hand was hot and his mouth hit something solid and blue. Dropping his spoon with a loud clang back into the bowl, Treville jerked back from his lunch. The solid blue around his hand vanished.

Aramis was howling with laughter, giggling madly as he banged the palm of his hand against the lunch table. One hand was around his stomach as he worked his way through the fit. Treville scowled back at him.

"Aramis!" He roared, and instantly the lad took off, grabbing his own tray and quickly depositing it above the trash. "Get back here!"

"Thanks Madame!" Aramis called, dashing quickly out of the cafeteria.

The older woman shook her head, opening the small door to behind the counter and making her way to Treville. She handed him a white hand towel, taking the seat Aramis had occupied not a moment before.

"That boy is becoming trouble." She snorted, amused. "I haven't seen him use your own powers against you like that. How does he do it?"

"The brat caught me off guard." Treville grumbled, wiping the table where his soup had splashed. "He knows it's second nature to just draw from him."

"Ah, no more handshake?"

Treville stared at her. She really knew everything; not many knew of the process, the progress of their work over the past two years. As if reading his mind, she answered nonchalantly.

"The boy tells me everything over midnight snacks. It's something of a tradition."

"Midnight sna—I don't believe this." Treville shook his head, grabbing his spoon once more and taking a bite. "It's no wonder I can't get him to get up in the mornings."

"It's tradition; keeps him calm and he has someone to talk to."

"He can talk to me."

Madame Serge rolled her eyes. "Exactly my point. He needs other friends and I have to say, he has a very good judge of character."

She gave him a look to challenge her statement before collecting the hand towel and returning to behind the counter. Treville shook his head once more, finishing his soup. He'd need to think of a way to get Aramis back later. Today's schedule was full of rather dangerous stunts and he'd need to be focused if they were going to get through it.

* * *

Treville found Aramis waiting for him outside of the Testing Lab, nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He was wearing a black tee shirt and gray shorts, sneakers on his feet. Thankfully, he'd outgrown running around barefoot.

"Are you mad?"

Treville snorted. "No, but you'd better be prepared for the consequences."

Aramis narrowed his eyes mischievously. "That so?"

"It is so." Treville answered coolly, entering the code to enter the lab. They'd installed a security system after Aramis had been caught fiddling with the equipment earlier that year. The machine beeped at them loudly and Treville frowned.

"Did you forget the code?" Aramis teased. "Do you want me to recite it for you?"

"Ninon must have changed it since you seem to have figured it out." Treville muttered, entering it again. Same result. "You weren't fiddling with anything in there, were you?"

"No." The boy was honest, most of the time.

They heard screaming from down the hall. It was faint but it was obvious that someone was in distress. Instantly Aramis was running down the hall. Treville trailed after him, struggling to catch up. The boy had become far too agile for his size. He'd grown taller fairly rapidly, reaching Treville's chest. Lanky, too.

The screaming grew louder—words forming as they grew closer.

"Get the hell off of me! Let go!" A woman, for sure. They rounded another corner. "Where the hell are you taking me?! Where's Jacques?! Ow, that hurts!"

"Calm down, please. We're not trying to hurt you."

"Like fucking _hell_ you're not!"

One more corner and they were met with three guards struggling to gain control over a young lady with auburn hair tied up in a loose bun. She was wearing a forest green knitted long sleeved shirt, something black underneath, and skinny jeans. Her feet flailed, kicking out wherever they could to do damage.

"Please just calm down. Please." One of the guards begged, valiantly doing his best to avoid thrashing feet and sharp nails looking to dig into his arms as he did his best to hold her still. Marcel, Treville remembered, one of the more sincere and gentle guards Treville knew to patrol the entrance.

"What's going on?" Treville asked at the same time Aramis surged forward, pushing at Dominic, on the other side of the young woman.

"Hey, stop." Dominic protested, motioning for Roger to do something.

Roger shook his head, hands full with his assault rifle. She stopped struggling for a moment, eyeing up Aramis. Shit, he knew that look. Within steps he was reaching for Aramis, acutely aware of a buzzing in his head. Aramis struggled against him, but stilled after a moment, meeting his eyes.

"Okay, is everybody calm?" Marcel asked, pleading. "Can we talk now?"

Everyone was still, the young woman still locked on Aramis. Treville watched as Marcel and Dominic loosened their grips slightly and the young woman was able to straighten up some in between them, arms still held captive.

"Okay." Marcel breathed. "If we let go of you, are you going to do something dumb? I really just want this go nicely."

The young woman didn't answer, eyes furrowed. Treville leaned down, whispering in Aramis's ear.

"Is she pulling at you?"

Aramis shook his head slowly, looking back at her.

"Who is she? What's she doing here?" Treville barked at the three guards, in no mood to be pleasant. If this young woman was going to threaten Aramis in any way…

"She's new. Director Limon is on his way, but he got stuck answering to the big wigs about her." Dominic answered gruffly, stance still aggressive, but she stayed put. "We're supposed to get her to Dr. Trenchard."

"Trenchard? He's already got two Inheritors he's working with."

"She isn't an Inheritor." Marcel answered quickly. "In fact, you're lucky we're allowing you as close as you are. You should really get back."

Not an Inheritor…

"You're saying she's—"

"Where the fuck is my fiancé?" She snarled suddenly. "And what the _fuck_ is going on?"

Aramis's eyes widened, never before hearing such foul language or dangerous tones. He'd heard Treville mutter a few curses before but never was one thrown out in such a manner. Squirming out of Treville's grip, he cautiously took a couple of steps forward, but no more.

"Okay, okay, alright. I don't know all the details but we've got no idea where he went." Marcel informed in a calming tone. "A lot's probably happened to you, and I know you're scared—"

"I'm not scared!" She snapped. "I'm pissed off! When I get my hands on him I'm going to rip out his bloody insides. What the hell did he think he was _doing_?"

"Holy shit, what did that guy do to you?" Roger muttered under his breath.

She obviously heard and snapped her head in his direction. "He froze my _fucking_ car after I told him I was going out—what the hell does it matter to you? You can't just take someone like this! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"He froze it?" Aramis asked. "Like, all the way?"

She turned back to the boy, eyebrows furrowed again. "Yes, all the way. A giant block of ice. I don't even know how he did it he just… oh god. Oh god, he _froze_ something."

Marcel let her go, feeling her start to relax. It was becoming obvious it was all catching up to her. Dominic reluctantly did the same. She sank to the floor, hands on her cheeks in disbelief. Treville sighed and looked to Marcel; reluctantly the man nodded at him and he was allowed to kneel before her. Aramis was still keeping his distance, but it was clear he was more than interested in this new girl.

A new Source.

"My name is Treville, this is Aramis." Treville jerked his head in the kid's general direction. "We're part of a program that helps special people like you."

"Special? How am I special? I watched Jacques—he's the one you people want. I didn't _do anything_."

"You did." Aramis piped up from his spot and Treville wanted to strangle the kid. This was a delicate process. "I can do things like that too."

"What? You freeze cars?" She asked flippantly.

"No, I make it so it can happen."

"What he means," Treville started, looking back at Aramis to silently communicate for him to shut up and let him talk, "is that it's a lot more complicated than you think. There's a man here, Director Limon, who can explain it all to you. We're just trying to help."

"Help, is that what you call it?" She huffed, shaking her head. "Kidnapping someone and—"

"If Director Limon hadn't managed to get you, someone else with more sinister intentions would. These things tend to draw a lot of attention and the government is a lot less… pleasant about things."

"The government is less… okay, right. This is just some huge conspiracy. Kidnapping girls and freezing cars, this is all very _fucking_ funny."

She was starting to get hysterical. Marcel gave him a look; they needed to calm her down or they'd have to drag her again. Where was Ninon when she was needed? Aramis was at his back now, leaning over him with a small chin on the top of his head and arms wrapped around Treville's neck.

"Let's just show her. We need to practice anyway." Aramis suggested. "It's faster than explaining and we have to wait for Ninon anyways, right?"

"What? No, you can't just do that out here." Roger protested, readying his assault rifle. "That shit's supposed to stay in the labs. We don't deal with that out here."

"Shut the hell up. If it calms her down I don't care what we do. I didn't see you getting kicked over here." Dominic sneered.

"Shut up." Marcel ordered, voice still relatively gentle. "Is it okay? It's not dangerous, right?"

"It's not that kind of thing." Treville assured, shaking Aramis off of his back. Once the boy was a good distance away he rose. "But I'm not so sure it's a good idea. It might set her off."

"I'm right here." She scowled.

"If we show you, will you do what Treville says? He's nice." Aramis flashed her a small grin. "It's cool."

"I just want to know what's going on. I want to go home and take a shower and forget any of this ever happened."

Aramis frowned, disappointed. "That's it? That's kind of boring."

"Aramis!" Treville snapped and the kid shrugged, not remorseful. "Listen, uh, what's your name?"

"Constance." She sighed. "You didn't even know my name? Shouldn't you people at least know that?"

"It's not my job." Treville shot back coolly. "Director Limon will explain everything, but right now we need to make sure you're okay. Can you walk with us to Dr. Trenchard's lab?"

"Lab?"

Shit.

"It's just an office; we've just got some extra equipment in there. Nothing crazy, I promise."

"Ninon is better." Aramis added unhelpfully. "She's the nicest."

"Will you shut up?" Treville hissed. "That isn't helping."

"She's a girl though. Doesn't a girl want to talk to other girls? That's what Madame told me."

Surprisingly, it made sense. Treville didn't try to claim he understood women, but at this point it wasn't that far of a long shot. Marcel just shrugged at him.

"Alright, Aramis, go find Ninon. I'll take her to Lab Four."

"Kay." And the kid was off, running down halls with no abandon.

"Will you follow me, Constance?" Treville offered her a hand, careful to mind himself. The last thing he needed was to pull at her.

She took a moment to think before reluctantly taking his hand. Once she stood she glanced back at the guards.

"Only if they don't follow. You're the only one treating me like a human being." Her tone was cross, eyes glaring the three men down.

"I don't care anymore. Just take her." Marcel waved them off, shoving his fellow colleagues back towards the main entrance. "This is the last time I'm dealing with newbies."

"C'mon, it's this way." Gently, he urged her forward and made sure not to touch her any more than necessary.


	7. Chapter 7

Constance fidgeted on the examination bed in Lab Four; the room was colder than the hallway and she wished she had been kidnapped when she'd had her sweater on. The man who brought her to the lab—Treville?—was sitting in a cushioned chair across the room and not far from the door. He was awkwardly shifting every once in a while, clearing his throat.

"She should be here anytime." Treville assured, keeping his eyes mostly on the door.

Perhaps it was the fact he looked as uncomfortable as she felt that made her a bit at ease. Swallowing, she tried to get out a question. It ended up being a series of opening and closing her mouth. The rage had shock had faded into embarrassment.

"Sorry… about earlier." She managed.

He looked to her a moment in surprise. "No, no need to apologize. I can imagine what it was like."

"Did they…?" She asked quietly, eyeing the door.

"Oh, no. Not me. It was… sort of voluntary from my part."

She waited for him to elaborate but he merely concentrated back on the door, picking up the habit of bouncing one foot. Well, as long as she had somebody she might as well get as much information as she could.

"How long have you been here?"

"Two years." He answered without looking at her.

"That long?" She gawked. "And you live here?"

"Yes. I do now." There no agitation in his voice so she continued her small interrogation.

"And that boy? Was he taken too?"

"His mother left him here for protection." Treville turned to look at her and coolly continued. "She was right to do so. Their house was bombed."

Bombed? Her mouth dropped open and she struggled to find the words. As if knowing what was going on in her head, Treville held up a hand in peace.

"It was at a time when this program was at its inception. No one understood what was happening to someone like you or Aramis or even your fiancé and those in power considered us a threat."

"And now?"

Treville wryly didn't answer. Nothing's changed then, she concluded. God, she was only a girl. What could possibly be so threatening about her?

"You keep saying "people like me". I don't understand; I haven't done anything." She held out her hands. "I'm just a normal girl. I work as a seamstress, I pay my bills on time, I even donate to charity."

Treville sighed. "I'm not the one who should explain. Really, you should wait for the Director."

"Why not? Aren't you a part of this too?"

Rubbing a hand down his bearded face, he turned tired blue eyes to her. "This isn't something easy to swallow, especially not for you."

"I'd rather you told it to me. You seem to understand people."

Maybe she was being stubborn, but he seemed to be just as much reluctant as she was pushy. He stared her down a couple of moments before heaving a sigh.

"There's two types of special people that we know of. You're either what's called a Source, or an Inheritor. You're the Source."

It was short, curt, and he turned back to the door unwilling to say anything more. With a frown she glared at him. That told her absolutely next to nothing.

"What's a Source?"

"Did you get a buzz, Constance?" He asked instead of answering her. "When I came close to you, did you feel a weird sensation in your head?"

Come to think of it…

"If I did?" Play it cool, don't let him get the upper hand.

Treville gave her a look. "It's something you need to pay attention to. It means that there's an Inheritor near. Likewise, an Inheritor can sense you're a Source. I don't know what's in store for you, but you need to remember that above all else."

What good did remembering that do?

"That doesn't help if I don't know what that means. What is a Source? What is an Inheritor?"

The door opened with a quiet hiss, the boy from earlier trailing after a beautiful woman with long blonde hair. She wore a doctor's coat so Constance connected the dots.

"Hello there. My name is Doctor de Larroque. You can call me Ninon if you'd like." She shoved a purple clipboard under one arm, holding out her flawless hand for a handshake.

Dumbstruck, Constance took it. "Constance."

"Alright Constance, we're going to take this slow, alright? I know it's been a rough night." Dr. de Larroque sat in a swivel stool, pushing herself with short black heels to the back of the room. "That will be all Treville, Aramis, thank you."

Treville stood and Aramis pouted. "But we need the code to practice."

"Treville knows the code." The doctor answered curtly to the boy.

"It's been changed." Treville spoke up, voice a little gruff. "We figured you changed it."

She paused in her rummaging in the back and called back a set of numbers and letters. Aramis repeated it back and the two of them left the lab. Swallowing hard, she was now faced with just a doctor who worked in a _lab_ and no witnesses to what she may or may not do.

"Alright Constance, we're just going to check you out and make sure everything is fine. It's going to be a bit of a bother but it's worth it to make sure there's nothing wrong." Dr. de Larroque swiveled back to her with practiced ease. "Can you tell me what happened last night?"

"First I want to know what a Source is." That's right, Constance, you set the rules. Don't take no for an answer. "I'm not doing anything until I know."

The blonde smiled softly at her. "Alright, but I want full cooperation after, okay? There's needles involved and I do so hate squirming patients."

Constance wasn't sure if it was a threat but it definitely sounded like one. "Fine, but you'll tell me what you're sticking me with."

"It's a deal then." Dr. de Larroque stuck out her hand and Constance hesitantly took it.

"A deal." She agreed.

"Very well. A Source is a person who harbors energy within their body capable of granting extraordinary abilities to whomever draws from it. The only ones who can draw from a Source is an Inheritor."

"And I'm a Source?"

"So they say." Ninon took her clipboard and snapped the pen out of the clip. "How old are you Constance?"

"Nineteen." She folded her hands in her lap. "So what you're saying is that I made Jacques freeze my car?"

"I'm saying you allowed him to do so, yes. You didn't make him, though. That was completely his—what is he to you? A friend?"

"My fiancé."

"I see. And can you describe what happened?"

"Is this part of the exam?"

"Very much so. I need to know in detail what happened before I do anything else. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

Constance nodded, running a hand through her short bangs. "I was over having dinner. My friend called; we were going out dancing. It's the weekend and we haven't spent as much time together since I got engaged. Jacques was just… he was jealous; didn't want me flirting with other men. I don't know what he takes me for. I said yes to the man for Christ's sake. And then to treat me so terribly for just wanting a drink and a dance with my friends… I can't believe him."

Constance watched Ninon scribble something down for a moment before continuing.

"I was so angry I just got up to leave. But he followed me out to the car and he was yelling things I'm sure the neighbor mothers hate us for and then I went to open the door. That's when the car got so cold I couldn't even open the door. It froze like a blizzard had just blown through. It's the middle of summer!"

"Did you feel anything?" Ninon asked, still scribbling at a decent pace. "Dizziness or nausea?"

"I was in shock; of course I felt dizzy. And sick to my stomach. And a headache come to think of it."

"That wasn't shock, I'm afraid." Ninon concluded, snapping the pen back in place at the top of her clipboard. "That's a side effect of the draw."

"What do you mean?" Constance could feel her heart sink.

"Before he froze the car, did you feel anything? Any sort of sign that something was going on with your body?"

"No. I mean, I was heated, but I was arguing. Everyone gets a little heated when they fight."

"Heated… you mean your body was warm?"

"Sort of? I mean, not really." Constance clicked her tongue, struggling for the right words. "It was like I had all of this energy I didn't know what to do with. I was worried I was going to hit him."

"And after? Did you feel drained at all?"

She thought a moment. "I suppose so. Wouldn't you after that sort of shock?"

"Okay. And now? Do you feel sick at all? Dizziness or nausea?"

"No. A bit tired maybe."

Ninon smiled. "Good. It looks like you got off relatively easy. To be honest, it's a miracle you're still here with us."

"What's that supposed to mean? You think he was going to kill me?" She drew herself up a little straighter, eyebrows furrowing as disgust started to creep in. "He's not that type of man."

"That isn't what I meant, but in a way, yes." Ninon held up her index finger, rolling over to something and coming back with a binder. She opened it up, flipping to a page toward the middle. "Look here. This is a thermal image of Treville and Aramis—the two you saw in here earlier."

The image was clear but Constance wasn't quite sure what she was looking at.

"Aramis is a Source, just like you. He's able to give energy to Treville to grant him an ability. You can see that they are both yellow here, right? Are you following me alright?"

Constance nodded slowly.

"Good, now if you look, this is a couple of minutes later. Do you see difference? Treville's gained the energy and Aramis has lost it. Thankfully, they are a well matched pair and have successfully mastered the exchange. Because they are careful, they stop before Aramis is drained of too much energy."

Ninon paused a moment.

"Think of it this way. It's like drawing blood. If you draw too much the patient gets woozy and can feel faint. Take more than that and they could die."

"So… Jacques took energy from me and that's how he froze the car."

"Precisely."

"How? Did he just know how to do it and didn't tell me? Why hasn't he done it before?"

"Unfortunately, Constance, I can't answer that. This is still a relatively new area for us. To be honest, I'm surprised you are taking this as well as you are. It's not everyday someone tells you that you can grant super powers."

"If my fiancé hadn't frozen our car, I wouldn't believe a word you've said. I don't think I fully understand, but at least you have some answers. It's more than I got from your friends at the gate."

Ninon laughed. "I'm afraid the guards don't know much. It's not exactly information they need to know. It's their job to guard the facility and that's about it. They know a little bit—things like Treville and Aramis can do incredible things, but they have no knowledge of how it works or why."

"What can they do? Do they freeze things too?"

"Would you like to see?" Ninon got up, motioning for her to follow. "It might help make things a little clearer for you."

It was incredibly awkward walking down hallways lit by old fluorescent lights that tended to flicker almost ominously. Several guards gave them strange looks and caught eyes with one of them, feeling that weird buzzing in her head.

" _It means that there's an Inheritor near. Likewise, an Inheritor can sense you're a Source. I don't know what's in store for you, but you need to remember that above all else."_

The man stared her down but she ignored it, sticking closer to Ninon's side. Not too much longer, Ninon held the door open to a room hooked up with monitors of all sorts. There was another woman inside, watching intently at the screens and marking things down.

"Hello Joyce, please don't mind us. We won't be here long."

"It's fine, they're doing well today." Joyce waved a hand at them. "Do you want me to bring it up on the big screen?"

"Please."

A few clicks from a mouse and a few clacks on a keyboard and the large screen in the middle of what Constance had dubbed the wall of monitors in her head lit up. Constance could see Treville and the boy—Aramis, she had to remind herself—standing in the middle of the room. The boy was holding a gun, pointing it at Treville.

The boy said something but there was no sound. Treville said something back and Constance started violently when the gun went off. Breath caught in her throat, she watched in fascination as something blue filled the screen; it was round and had engulfed Treville completely in bubble. Aramis walked up to the bubble, picking out a bullet suspended in its pale blue and grinned at Treville. The bubble vanished and Aramis went back to his place on the other side of the room.

"What the hell?" Constance whispered.

"Treville is able to make shields. Right now they are testing the speed at which he can throw one up. It's incredible." Ninon spoke in wonder at it, her eyes glued to the screen. "The bullets are blanks, so the danger is minimal."

"Alright. Let's test shape and size now please." Joyce spoke into a microphone and Aramis immediately put the gun down on the small table sitting in one of the corners of the room. "Hey, new girl, you'll love this."

Jaw slack, she watched as that blue reappeared, forming quickly over a closed fist into a small bubble. Within seconds it was changing into something flat and round, a razor thin shield resting against the backs of Treville's knuckles. Another couple of seconds and it changed shape again—a triangle, square, and back to a bubble again.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Joyce waggled her eyebrows at the two of them from beneath dark bangs. "I'll bet you've never seen anything like that before. She a new doctor?"

"Source." Ninon answered off handedly, continuing to watch the boys work.

"You're not serious…" Joyce stood up, nearly tripping over cords her feet had tangled up in beneath the desk she sat at. "A new Source? How did you find her?"

"No clue. Aramis and Treville brought me to oversee her. C'mon Constance, we've got some work to do. A deal was a deal."

Ninon tugged at her knitted shirt, slowly half dragging her away from the monitor. Joyce stared at her in awe as the two of them left, closing the door behind them. Constance was silent the whole way back, replaying the image of the car freezing over and over in her mind. Her head was beginning to spin with everything she'd just seen and heard in the last 24 hours.

"I know it's a bit overwhelming, but welcome to the rest of your life." Ninon said softly, waiting for the door to hiss open before entering the lab. "It's one hell of a start, but trust me that you're much better off here than anywhere else."

"I want to go home."

Ninon sighed. "I'm not sure you'll ever go home. Director Limon will talk you through it. Let's get some tests done. Your shirt is going to need to come off."

Numbly, she did as told, mind racing in an effort to figure out a way out of this. It's all just a dream, she told herself as a cold stethoscope and gloved hands touched her back and a gentle voice told her to take deep breaths.

It's all just a dream and the wedding is going to be beautiful.


	8. Chapter 8

"When do we get to see her again?"

"If I hear you ask me that one more time…" Treville growled, stabbing at his lunch. The salad crunched under his fork loudly, splattering bits of lettuce across his tray.

Aramis groaned, splaying out across the table. One of his hands knocked against Treville's tray and the man pulled the tray back away from the disgruntled boy. He mumbled something into the table Treville didn't quite care to hear before straightening back up.

"But why won't they let us see her?"

"It's not my business." Treville gave a look and stabbed at his salad again. "Not yours either, so drop it."

"You're boring." Aramis whined. "I'm going to go find Ninon."

"Aramis." Treville warned. He received a faux innocent shrug for his efforts and the boy the was off. He cursed quietly and continued to stab at his lunch. Across the cafeteria he met eyes with Madame Serge. She gave him a sharp look.

"That boy is going for trouble."

"It's my day off. Let someone else handle him for once."

"A day off he says." She laughed mirthlessly. "As if a parent gets a day off."

He shook his head. "I'm not the boy's father."

"Doesn't matter a lick." She huffed, disappearing into the kitchen.

No. _No_. Someone else was going to have to handle him. It was a day to relax and devote himself to other needs; such as…

He couldn't remember the last day off he'd even had. What did he do? Well it didn't matter. He needed this day off for his sanity. Whether he spent it staring at the ceiling in his room or traversing the halls it was a day off. No responsibilities. No _Aramis_.

* * *

Aramis ended up at the edge of his permitted zone; there was a door closed at the end of a hallway he'd never seen closed before. It had been an empty room before, but so had Treville's room before he'd moved into the facility permanently. He crept as quietly as he could towards it, sliding down the wall next to the closed wooden door and listened.

He heard a few muffled sounds—someone was definitely moving around inside. Glancing back down the hall to see if anyone was watching. With the hallway devoid of any life—though not devoid of cameras, he carefully made his way back to his feet and reached for the handle. He pulled it down and pushed in; the door made a loud thud as the lock held it in place. Pulling his hand back quickly, he panicked.

The door clicked and opened, an irritated girl glaring at him. She blinked a moment, surprised.

"It's you."

"I, uh, hey." He waved and smiled nervously.

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to talk to you."

"No." She shut the door quickly, locking it in place. "I don't want to talk to you people anymore."

"But I just—" he cut himself off, not knowing what to say. He'd never been completely rejected before. Girls were weird. "Can't we be friends?"

"I don't want friends. I _have_ friends. I want to go home." She was muffled through the door but he could still hear her clearly enough.

"I wanted to go home too." He told her. "Mama said it wasn't safe and they bombed our house, so I think it's better if you stay here with us."

"My house is fine, thanks."

"Well they _could_ bomb it." Really, why was she being so mean? He was only wanting to talk a bit.

"Go away now."

"I don't want to."

She never answered and he stood there dumbly for what seemed like ages before heaving a heavy sigh and sitting against the door. He sat in silence for a while, hearing the occasional shuffle from inside. It got boring after a while so he started talking.

"This place can be pretty fun. It's kind of boring though. I like to practice with Treville's powers. I can make him have these awesome shields and it doesn't even hurt but if we do it for a long time then I get tired. It's more fun to pull pranks on him. He's so boring sometimes. He makes a really funny face when he's surprised; sometimes he's laughs, but mostly he's just boring. Too serious, I think."

Something was thrown at the door and Aramis grinned.

"Ninon is even less fun. She's all about safety and she even locked the practice room because I was playing with one of the guns. I can't help it—it calls to me."

"Go away."

"Did it hurt when you gave your friend ice powers?"

"I'm not talking to you."

"You're the only other one, so I just wanted to know. It was kind of lonely being the only one. I can't really talk to Treville about it because he's threatened to quit so many times. Even if I'm more than just tired I don't tell him."

No response.

"Do you have a family? I have a mom. My father died before I came here. I don't have any brothers or sisters though. Do you have any?"

"Brothers."

Aramis beamed, sitting up a little straighter. "Really? How many?"

"Three."

"So cool! Do you they play with you and stuff? I bet you had fun everyday."

"It wasn't that fun. They're stinky, they pulled my hair, they flirt with my friends—awful, really."

"You don't like them?"

"They're family." She answered as if it explained everything.

Aramis shrugged, despite knowing she couldn't see. "I wish I had brothers."

She didn't respond for a long while so he carried on about anything and everything; getting letters from his mother, secret handshakes with the guards, Madame and Monsieur Serge in the kitchens, but mostly Treville. The things they'd done together—the one time Aramis had convinced everyone to let him fly a kite outside, ditching lessons on reading and writing, his favorite hiding spots, and the one time Treville had accidentally slipped in the hallway and got a concussion—were the most elaborated upon stories. Nothing else seemed really of interest to talk to a girl about.

"Why are you doing this?" She sighed and something thumped on the other side of the door. It was heavy and bounced him off of the other side briefly. "I'm not going to let you experiment on me, so you can tell your people that it's useless."

"I just wanted to be friends." Aramis spoke quietly, almost secretively. "They won't let me come see you anyways so I had to sneak in."

The door clicked and opened; Aramis lost his balance and hissed when the back of his head crashed against the linoleum floor. The girl—Aramis couldn't remember her name—was staring down at him with a frown. Her hair was longer than he remembered and fell in soft curls.

"You really aren't here because of them?"

"No."

She took a slow, deep breath. "Come on then, get in."

Aramis scrambled to his feet, entering the small room. There wasn't much there; a bed for sleeping in, a small nightstand with a lamp on it, and a simple dresser on the other side. There was no window—not a surprise considering they were one floor underground. It was a little bigger than his own room, although his room was decorated with old toys and dirty clothes.

"You should decorate. It would look better."

"With what?" She snapped, closing the door and locking it behind her. "I've got nothing but the clothes on my back."

Aramis shrugged. "We should tell Ninon to bring you things. Sometimes the Director will bring me stuff—like a poster or a game."

"I have things. They're at my house with everything else I own."

"Like a television?" Aramis hopped up onto the twin sized bed near the foot and swung his feet. "I've never had one. I want to watch movies on it because Andrea in the kitchen is always saying stuff about the movies she watches to Angelique. Do you watch movies on it?"

She blinked dumbly at him. "Well, yes. And other programs, too. It's not just movies. You could watch the news or something."

"What's the news?"

"It's uh… well it's where they tell you what's been happening in the world." She gave him a funny look before finding herself a place at the head of the bed, pulling her blankets back up over her legs and hugging the pillow on her lap loosely. "How long have you been here again?"

"Almost three years." Aramis shrugged. "I came here when it was a brand new place. Things aren't so shiny anymore and sometimes the machines break. It's kind of lame."

"Three years… and they've just cooped you up in here?"

"I guess. But we work on powers and stuff. Treville and me can do some really cool things now, like make these shields that can even block bullets!"

"But when you guys do that—that's when he takes from you, right? It could kill you." She reached out and grabbed one of his hands. "Aren't you even a little bit scared?"

"Why do people always say that? It's fine, I can always make it stop. Treville never takes too much anyways. We've practiced loads of times and I like it. Haven't you always wanted super powers?"

She let of his hand and stared him down. He fidgeted a little bit, not knowing if he was in trouble for talking about it. She was little bit mean, so she could hit him if she didn't like him. He didn't think he was allowed to hit back.

"Super powers didn't exist until last week." She explained to him. "It was only on TV and none of _this_ was real."

"It's real. I mean, I guess since you're new it can be scary for you. It's not so bad if you practice though. You just have to get used to feeling really tired afterwards. Sometimes I even take a nap, but it's nice too, especially when they wake you up so _early_ and I hate waking up."

"How old are you?"

"Nine. I'll be ten soon. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"You're old." Aramis wrinkled his nose. "But you're not as old as everybody else."

Constance kicked him from underneath the covers. "That's rude to say to a lady."

"You're a lady?"

She kicked him harder and he jumped off of the bed. "Yes, I'm a lady. Didn't your mother ever teach you how to treat a lady?"

"She's not here. She went to Fiji." Aramis took a safer seat against the wall next to the door. "But she did tell me I couldn't hit girls."

"She's a good woman then. Wish I could say more for her son." She grumbled. "And it really doesn't bother you that they're just using you for their own gains?"

"That's stupid. They don't use me—I have to practically beg for Treville to even practice all the time. He's always saying what you're saying. "You could die. It's too risky. We need to be careful." It's really annoying."

"They aren't forcing you?"

"Why? Are they forcing you?" Aramis shot back. "It took a long time before they even let me go to eat lunch by myself. It's safety this, don't run in the halls that. There's not much fun around here because no one wants me hurt and it's so _boring_. We can only practice for an hour before lunch and an hour after lunch. They make me take lessons to learn how to read and I hate it. Treville has so many rules and it's dumb and I don't think he even remembers half of them until I break it."

She watched him rant with amusement. "Your life must be so hard."

"Tell me about it!" He threw his hands up in the air. "The best thing I get to do is shoot at the shield and even then we can only shoot two times a day. The guns are so cool though and it's so much fun to watch the shield catch the bullets. I mean, how could you not love to give someone powers? They can't do it without you and you get to control if they have it or not. It's just so cool and now that you're here we can talk about it!"

She waited a moment to make sure his tirade was done. "Sorry, but I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to do some freaky energy transfer and give people powers. I have a life outside of this prison and a family to go back to. I'm _getting married_ in four months."

"To the guy who froze your car?"

"Yes," she hissed, "to the guy who froze my car. I'm sure he didn't mean to do it. It was an accident."

"That sounds really boring."

"It's not boring it's normal. Normal people get up and go to work. Normal people pay their bills and vote and are productive in society. Normal people get married and have kids and…" She faltered, face scrunching into one of almost horror. Running a hand through her auburn hair she groaned. "Oh god, it is boring. I hate my job, my fiancé is a piece of shit who won't give me space, the wedding is so bloody _expensive_ and we haven't been saving enough—the car! I'm going to have to buy a new car."

"Sounds really boring. Why don't you just stay here and give people powers instead? Then you don't have to worry about any of that and we can be friends here. I promise I won't freeze your car." He held out a pinky to her and she blinked at him, a look closing in on disgust creeping onto her face. "You're special, you know. All of the other Sources died a long time ago."

"Why didn't you?"

Aramis beamed. "Cause I've got Treville. We didn't get along at first but he's special too. He never takes too much and he's really good at safety. I'm sure we can find someone for you too."

There was knock at the door and Aramis's face fell.

"Sorry to bother you," a man's voice called through the door, "but I think you may be harboring a little boy who knows he shouldn't be in there."

"We're friends now, so it's allowed." Aramis called back through the door. "There's no room for boring people in here so you're going to have to go away. Sorry!"

"Not happening. Come out, Aramis, before I take a whole week off instead of just a day. What's left of my day, anyways."

Constance quirked an eyebrow, flipping over her blankets, setting aside her pillow and unlocking the door. She gently pulled it open and Treville stood leaning against the frame of her door with a disapproving look on his face.

"I'm sorry about him. He tends to think he can do whatever he wants around here."

"She let me in." Aramis smiled sheepishly at him.

"Actually, he's been rather rude, calling a lady old." She smirked down at the boy, his face falling into a scowl. "But maybe I could let it slide."

"That so?" Treville gave him a look and Aramis reluctantly stood up and exited the room, sticking close behind Treville. "We'd be grateful for the pardon then. Wouldn't we?"

"She is old…" Aramis mumbled, getting an elbow to the chest for his comment from his Inheritor. "Ow, okay. Sorry."

"Sorry for the bother, we'll be on our way." Treville gave her a polite nod and turned away, one hand gripping Aramis around the back of his neck and shoving him hard back down the hall.

"Before you go," she called, hand reaching out instinctively, "I wanted to know if it's true."

He turned back to her. "What's true?"

"He told me all of the others died."

With a grimace, Treville nodded. "It's true."

"And him? He said it's because he had you that he's still alive."

"I'm not so sure that's true, Mademoiselle, but I do my best to keep him safe."

"And me? If I were to go along with all of this, would you do the same for me?"

Treville considered it a moment and Aramis squirmed out of his hold, rubbing the back of his young neck. "I'd do my best."

She nodded to them and closed her door, locking it back in place. Treville turned and smacked the back of Aramis's head, reveling in the hiss of pain it elicited.

"If you're ever so stupid I again, I swear I'll have them start escorting you around. What did I tell you?"

"Not my business." Aramis recited miserably. "But it should be. She's the only other Source. It's fate that we become friends."

"Don't force friendship onto people, it's creepy."

"I'm not creepy!" The boy protested. "I'm just very friendly. Why does no one trust me?"

"Because you go around doing stupid things like this. Follow the rules or you're going to end up being _very_ bored."

"Fine."


	9. Chapter 9

It was three days later when Director Limon interrupted their morning practice to announce that Constance had agreed to stay and join the program. Aramis had been ecstatic, as predicted, but Treville was feeling a growing sense of dread. She'd agreed to join only under a long list of conditions—the first being that she only work with Treville.

As if the pressure of keeping Aramis safe and in line wasn't enough.

Treville had been twice as nervous as Constance when they'd sat down in the Testing Lab. Constance's energy was a far cry different than Aramis's and the handshake was a pleasant feeling instead of unsettling. Of course, Treville had experience with drawing energy from a Source so he supposed it was expected that he'd be used to it; but it was a warmth quite different from Aramis.

With Aramis it was a sinking warmth, deep down like liquid running through his veins. Constance's warmth was fire, burning on the surface of his skin in one place. It was steady instead of fluid; he could more easily concentrate on it.

She had less control than Aramis, dropping the line frequently. It took three days for them to establish a steady line for more than ten minutes and even then they were advised to practice holding the line for extended periods of time before moving on. Constance hadn't protested and Treville kept his mouth shut wisely. It was boring work, just holding a line, but he'd rather Constance be confident than push for progress. Not to mention he'd been having nightmares of bursting into flames or drowning everyone in the facility; he'd rather stall finding out what kind of powers she would give him.

Despite spending so much time with Constance, he still ended up practicing with Aramis and the kid was distracted. He was far more interested in what kind of work he was doing with his other source while shooting at the shield than focusing on doing something new—not that there was much else they _could_ do. Treville could warp it into pretty much any shape and size. It was a matter of endurance and even then Treville was still hesitant on pushing boundaries.

Three weeks of practice rolled by and Treville found himself sending a silent prayer that this didn't go terribly wrong. Constance seemed just as anxious, biting her lip and cleaning underneath her nails. With a deep breath, he stood.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, I guess."

She stayed seated, her chair placed further from him than usual. They were about thirty feet apart—a good safe distance in case he couldn't control whatever it was he was given to work with. It wouldn't save her from drawing too much, Treville bitterly reminded himself.

"Start a line." Treville instructed. He glanced at the cameras, knowing Aramis was most likely hiding in the surveillance room with Ninon. The boy could charm himself into anywhere. The fiery warmth started in his chest and he easily latched onto it. "I'm going to pull now. Are you ready?"

"Okay, yeah." Her voice wobbled and he picked up on the fear.

"We're going slow. All you need to do is say stop and it's done. We won't do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"Yeah, okay."

"Constance." She looked up at him and he felt the line falter before strengthening again. Treville looked her in the eye and gave as warm a smile as he could muster. "I'm scared, too, alright? You aren't alone in this."

"I trust you." She nodded at him, waiting with baited breath. "I can do this."

"Alright." He tugged at the line, keeping a careful eye on her. She didn't show any signs of discomfort and nothing was happening. "I've got to pull a bit more."

She nodded again and he pulled, watching her squirm a little bit in her chair, shoulders rolled forward and brow starting to tighten. No pain, maybe a slight bit of discomfort.

"I want you to tell me what you feel."

"It's weird. I'm a little queasy but I'm fine."

"Okay." He increased the pull, feeling something inside of himself quiver. "We'll keep it at this level. Something should manifest shortly."

"You could do more."

"No, we'll keep it here. It's safe." He waited anxiously for whatever was going to happen. With any luck, it was something trivial.

He blinked for a moment at the sensation of sinking and glanced down at his feet. His feet were gone, the floor creeping up to his calves. He startled violently and she jumped up out of her chair. He couldn't control the line and next thing he knew he was halfway through the floor. Desperate to stop the descent he pulled more and the next thing he knew he was crashing through something hard and he was out.

* * *

He woke to soft murmurs, a young voice babbling something unintelligible. His head a fuzzy and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't for the life of him understand what was wrong with his ribs. With a soft groan he reached for them; his left hand got caught on something and there was minor pain along the top.

"Hey there, welcome back." That was a woman and Treville opened his weary eyes to find Ninon staring back down at him with a small regretful smile. "You took quite a fall, so try not to move. I know you're in pain and we'll give you something for that in a minute. I just need to make sure you're still right in the head."

"What happened?"

"You fell through the floor." She answered plainly, reaching out and holding one of his cheeks, flashing a pen light in one eye and then the other. He blinked away the spots. "You didn't hit your head too hard, it seems. No concussion from what I can tell but you've cracked a couple of ribs. Not much I could do for that but bandage them, so you're going to need to be careful."

"I fell…" He remembered in horror the incident. "And Constance?"

"She's fine." Ninon soothed. "She's recovering from the whole ordeal in her room. You scared her pretty bad I'm afraid."

"I didn't hurt her, did I?"

"No, no. She was a little woozy but she's fine." Ninon wrote something down before handing him a little button attached to a wire. "Here's your pain relief. Click only once if it's bad, alright? We'll get you out of here and back into your room in the morning. I've had to shoo away your visitors for the past few hours, so you'd best enjoy the peace and quiet while you can."

Treville sighed, knowing exactly who it was she was talking about. "I'm surprised you managed to keep him away."

"It wasn't just him, you know. You may not have noticed, but you've got quite a few people who've been concerned." Ninon pointed to a small table across the room full of flowers and other small novelties like chocolates and fruit. "I dare say even Madame Serge had a dinner especially made for you."

Treville made a soft noise, pressing his button. He might as well enjoy the morphine while he could. She messed with a few things, showed him how to adjust his bed, and gave him strict instructions for bed rest before opening the door. Treville could hear her argue softly with the boy waiting to be let in.

"Just let the boy in." He sighed, waving his right hand for Aramis to enter. The boy squeezed past Ninon, who gave Treville a stern look.

"Ten minutes and then you need to go, alright? I mean it. Treville needs his rest and so do you."

Aramis made a face but agreed quietly, taking his place next to Treville. "You're okay, though, right?"

"I'll live." Treville affirmed grimly. "I'm hurt but I'm not dying. No need to be so dramatic."

"You fell through the floor." Aramis reminded, reaching out hesitantly. "You wouldn't wake up and then they wheeled you here."

"Yeah, sorry. You must have been scared."

"I was." Aramis told him quietly. "They wouldn't tell me anything and I thought you were dead. They only wheel people around like that when they're bringing someone in here to die."

Fuck. He hadn't thought about that. The kid must have seen the other Sources after a draw gone wrong when he was young. Treville had completely forgotten about that.

"No, it's fine. I'll probably outlive you." He tried to make light of it but the boy wasn't having any of it, a somber pout on his face. "I'll be on bed rest for a few days but I'm sure it won't be too bad."

"Are you going to practice with Constance again?"

Treville blinked and used his little remote to elevate the hospital grade bed a bit higher. "Listen, this was just an accident. It's not Constance's fault."

"I know." The boy mumbled. "But are you going to practice with her again?"

"If she wants to. I'm sure she's a bit freaked out, but it's just a minor accident."

"You could have died." Treville felt his heart squeeze when Aramis's voice wobbled and his eyes filled with tears threatening to fall. "You're not supposed to be the one in danger."

"Hey now," He reached out and pulled the kid close, an arm wrapped around him the best he could and ignored the ache in his ribs he got for his actions, "it's going to be fine."

"I don't want you to die."

"I'm not going to die." Treville let him go and watched the boy furiously scrub at teary eyes. "I've got a brat to look after. I'm under oath from a very nice lady who would have my head if anything happened to him."

Aramis only sniffed and continued to rub at his eyes, dark hair limp and falling into his face. He ruffled the boy's hair gently and watched as Ninon gently placed a hand on his back.

"C'mon, he needs his rest now."

"It hasn't been ten minutes yet." Aramis protested miserably as he was slowly pushed out. "It wasn't enough time."

"I'll see you in the morning." Treville promised. "I'll let you bring me breakfast."

"Fine." He sulked, and Treville kept eye contact through every millisecond it took for the door to click shut.

* * *

True to his word, Treville was awoken by the clanking of his breakfast dishes being shaken on the unsteady tray the nine year old was struggling to bring to him. Breakfast in bed was fairly uneventful and Aramis sulked the entire time. Constance was nowhere in sight and Treville suspected he'd have to convince her to come out of hiding again. He wasn't so sure the girl was ever going to try again after the last disaster. What was supposed to be slow and controlled ended up with him through the floor and he vaguely remembered her face of horror.

There was a knock at the door and Aramis started, opening the heavy wooden door by himself—a feat Treville recalled was next to impossible two years prior. Director Limon greeted them with his old smile and behind him was probably one of the buffest women Treville had ever seen. She stood taller than Limon at close to six feet tall and he could see the definition of her muscled arms through the suit jacket she wore. Her red hair framed her face in a short bob and she held herself gracefully.

"It's good to see you're recovering. I'm sure Aramis has had his hand in that." Limon playfully patted Aramis on the back but the boy merely retreated back to his chair near the bed sullenly. "This is Sylvia. She's going to be a regular around here, so let's be kind. Sylvia, if you don't mind, I need to speak to these two privately about the matters we discussed."

"Very well." She gave them each a nod and slipped out of the room. Treville suspected she was waiting outside the door.

"Alright, this old man has some news you may not be so excited about." Limon pulled another chair from the small desk Treville kept in a corner to the other side of the bed. "As you know, we can't keep ourselves afloat. There's a branch of funding that is less… _trusting_ of our progress. The Spanish are gaining on us and there's talk of pushing for more profitable results."

"What's that mean?" Aramis grumbled, crossing his arms.

"It means, dear Aramis, that we're being called upon to prove ourselves in front of our investors or things around here will change for the worse. All of that freedom you have right now will be thrown out the window."

"What kind of results are they looking for? We've already done something most haven't been able to do. We've got two Sources—living and healthy—who can successfully link to an Inheritor."

"The Germans have four that we know of; the Spanish even more. I can't say for certain about England or Russia, but I do know that the Americans have started their own research. This is growing and those in power are starting to take note. This won't stay under wraps for much longer—a year, maybe two at the most. If we don't manage to keep ourselves protected as an independent organization and keep ourselves out of the eyes of those with more sinister intentions I'm not sure I can keep Aramis and Constance safe."

It was the absolute worst time to break the news; Aramis was tight with anxiety and if Constance knew, he wasn't sure they'd ever see her again. She'd find a way out and from there her fate was up in the air.

"What do you need from us?"

"There are those who have the same intentions as we do—exploration and safety. I've gotten a new offer of funding from a man known as The Cardinal. He's got his own personal reasons of interest and for someone so powerful I dare not ask why. He's backed by one of the wealthiest in France. We're talking the top of the top here."

Limon sighed. "They sent Sylvia to me to ensure we were who we say we are. She'll be my shadow for as long as needed to develop trust. It's imperative that we receive protection from these people. They will keep us hidden and ensure this program continues."

"Won't the French government have an issue with this?"

Limon gave a tight lipped smile. "I'm not so worried about the government. They've turned their noses up to us as of late. Forgive me, but your powers aren't exactly something they can utilize, especially since it requires the both of you and Aramis is still a child. We've lost most of our investors from that side."

"That's why you went to this Cardinal."

"He came to me, actually. A surprise, since I've not reached out to him. When I tell you not many know of us, it's less than twenty outside of this facility. Secret operations are most troublesome to the ones in charge."

"What does he want?" Aramis piped up, dark eyes squinting in suspicion.

"A simple demonstration of what you can do and a few questions afterward. It won't take long—a couple of hours maybe and you'll be free to come back to the facility." Limon bounced a leg in a steady rhythm. "I can guarantee you'll be treated well and provided with whatever it is you may need."

"And how many of these are we going to have to do before he'll be satisfied? I'm not going to be examined like a specimen because someone is curious." Treville grumbled. "Constance isn't in any shape to be put on trial either."

"It would be just the two of you." Limon assured. "I cannot say if just the once will do, but it can be discussed after the demonstration. I cannot stress how important this is, Treville. Your very lives could depend on it."

A heavy silence descended upon them and Treville rapidly thought through his options. He couldn't risk putting Aramis and Constance in a bad spot—this facility was decent. They were allowed to say no, allowed to walk around unattended. That could all change in an instant should someone else gain control. Limon himself was only head of the facility and could be easily plucked out should someone see him unfit. A life of becoming a test subject for some nasty military man made his stomach roll.

He thought back to Vera and her mysterious move to Fiji. Already there wasn't much control, but there was enough to keep Treville satisfied. Either way he was stuck watching over his two Sources and he needed to put them first. This place wasn't ideal, but they could manage to swing things their way if they gained enough influence over Limon. As for anyone else, there was little to no chance they would be able to even talk to whoever gained control. He'd seen the way some of those facilities worked. It was a hidden hell on earth and Treville would be damned if he let things fall to that.

Suicide, Ninon had said back then. The only way out if things went south. They needed this and despite his own vices about Limon's shady ways of doing things, the elder did have their best interests at heart.

"Alright."

Limon sagged with relief. "Thank you. We'll schedule it for after you've recovered."

"Don't tell Constance." Aramis said in hushed tones. "She won't stay if she's scared."

"It wouldn't be fair to keep her in the dark. We stay honest with each other, remember?" Treville reminded, although Aramis did have a point. "We'll tell her after, alright? She deserves to know what's going on in here."

"I don't want her to leave. What if she hates us for going?"

"There's not much we can do, then."

"I'll leave you to recover." Limon's bones cracked and popped as he stood back up, dragging the chair back over to the small desk. "Thank you for hearing me out. I'll be in touch about the appointment."

"Will you be going too?" Aramis asked, hopeful.

"I'm afraid I've been asked to let the two of you go unattended. It promotes trust and honesty." Limon carefully opened the door. "I'm sorry to put everything on the two of you, but you've the fate of this facility in your hands. Good luck lads."

They were left to themselves, quiet and pensive in Treville's small quarters. Treville fell back asleep sometime after and when he woke he found Aramis was gone. The lights had been turned off and there was a glass of water by the bed with a few pills and a note from Ninon. He did as directed and settled back into the bed. It was going to be a long couple of days of recovery and he only prayed Aramis didn't get himself into trouble.

* * *

And here is where I notoriously end up spinning a very big web of plot. So much thought goes into this that it takes a bit more time than i'd like to get it written, but at least there was some Treville whump in there for ya and more powers. Not to worry, for those of you desperately wanting to see the rest of the boys, they're coming soon. Promise.


	10. Chapter 10

Ninon had insisted he was up and about 36 hours after the falling through the floor incident. As much as he'd rather lie about and not jar his ribs he was sharply informed bed rest would hinder the healing process. It took three weeks before he was cleared for their meeting with this "Cardinal" and he was about ready to shoot himself to save himself from the annoyance of a nine year old badgering him about the upcoming day. It was non-stop questions about people he'd never met, places he'd never been, and what could possibly go wrong.

To think all it took was a couple of busted ribs for the kid to turn into Mr. Safety and Precaution. He had to go hide out in Constance's room just to get some peace and quiet. It took a couple of times of listening to awkward apologies before Treville could convince her everything was fine. His ribs were sore, sure, but it was nothing compared to old injuries received while serving in the military.

They hadn't practiced since and Treville wasn't exactly worried that they might never again. Either she'd come back around to the idea or she wouldn't, but he had more important things occupying his mind. The looming meeting was a major source of stress and even the guards could tell he was off, tending to keep their distance despite the earlier concern radiating off of every single member of staff in their section of the facility.

As for practice with Aramis—they'd put together a sort of routine just in case there was no direction. It showcased most of their ability, but they kept a wild card in their back pocket just in case. There was no reason to pull out all of the stops for shady rich men looking for a show.

The meeting was arranged and before they knew it they sat in the back of car dressed in stuffy suits. Aramis looked cute, though Treville dared not to say so. He wore an expensive looking navy bowtie and his little dress shoes shined. The boy wasn't as uncomfortable as Treville thought he'd be. Instead the kid preened himself in car window whenever he could catch a glimpse of his hair. He was never satisfied with it, brushing through it with his fingers this way and that.

Treville was the opposite; he was constantly readjusting his tie—matching Aramis's of course, his dress shoes pinched his toes and he wondered how exactly they were going to move comfortably for their routine. Limon was sitting in the front seat and Sylvia was driving steadily through the countryside.

The facility itself wasn't too far out from Paris but the surrounding countryside was a breath of fresh air. They hit traffic on the way into the city and what should have been a two hour drive ended up taking four hours. The added time made Aramis twice as fidgety and Treville wondered if the boy was going to survive the trip.

He ended up taking the boy's hand into his own for a few minutes, noticing the way he relaxed under familiar touch. They didn't do things like this often, but Treville found it was a comfort to Aramis when he became worked up.

The two of them were dropped off in front of a skyscraper, security standing outside of the revolving glass door. Aramis was gawking at the city life. They were on one of the most expensive streets in Paris and Treville recognized the lavishness of the people walking about the well lit streets. The bright lights were something to behold, even for a child who was normally privy to the outside world. Treville pulled on the small sleeve of his companion.

"Come on, we're going to be late."

The boy snapped back to attention, trotting after him as they approached the beefy looking guards—also in expensive suits. Treville wasn't sure what to say to them and Sylvia had driven off with the director without a word of instruction.

One of the guards regarded them through dark sunglasses and nodded to the other. That one, smaller than the other, gruffly addressed them.

"Names."

"Jean-Armand Treville and Aramis."

"Just Aramis?" The larger one scoffed.

"Yes." Truthfully, he wasn't sure Aramis had a last name and the boy wasn't saying anything to correct him.

"State your business."

"We've been invited to a meeting by the Cardinal." Treville answered coolly.

Instantly he could sense the shift in body language. The smaller of the two reached up, pressing a button on his headset and rattling off the information they'd just received. Within seconds they were ushered inside.

"Hands out."

Aramis, the poor naive lad, held his arms out in front of him and his palms up. The smaller guard cracked a smile and separated his arms out to his sides running a wand over Aramis's small frame. Aramis watched them in fascination as they did it to Treville next.

"What's that for?"

"To check for weapons." Treville pulled the boy closer to him. "Are we cleared gentlemen?"

"Clear. Take the elevator to the top. There's more security to greet you there."

"Thank you." Treville nodded at them and the female receptionists giggling at the two of them from behind a marble counter.

"Is that your son?" One called, flipping dark hair over her shoulder. "He looks adorable."

"He's not my father, but thank you." Aramis flashed them a smile and Treville frowned down at the boy. "You look adorable too."

"C'mon." He dragged the kid to the elevator, shaking his head. "Those girls are far too old for you."

"I was just answering their question." Aramis pouted. "And they were adorable. Are girls always so nice looking? Well, I guess Constance and Ninon look good."

It was _way_ too early to be having this talk. "You listen to me. Girls are off limits, alright? You shouldn't even like them until you're a teenager."

"Why? Girls are pretty and they're nice." Aramis rocked on his heels as the elevator lifted them to the sixty-fifth floor. "Don't you like girls?"

"Yes, but you're too young too like them. Just… promise you'll stay away from girls until you're at least fifteen."

"How am I supposed to stay away from Constance?" Aramis grumped. "That's not very fair of you."

"That's not what I meant by it."

"Then what did you mean by it?"

The elevator dinged and they walked out into a hallway of gold. Every last detail was shiny, spotless, and adorned with gold. Whether it was paint or solid gold, the hallway absolutely sparkled. The floor was black—an expensive onyx maybe and it only reflected the shine even more. There were six guards in the hall, two by the end of hallway where a large mahogany door was closed, two in the middle of the hallway, and two to greet them by the elevator.

This search was far more extensive; pockets were turned inside out, jackets removed, they were asked to open their mouths and take off their shoes, and Treville noticed that every single guard was armed to the teeth. The two at the end of the hall had their guns out, trained on the two of them the entire time. Aramis was far more shy during the search and retreated into himself. Treville could feel the anxiety return full throttle. Hopefully they'd be able to get through the meeting with minor incidents.

The first guards escorted them to the second and so forth until they reached the doors at the end. The last guards opened to door and inside was more lavish than the hallway and the reception room combined. Marble graced the floor, windows were floor to ceiling, there was a chandelier with so many crystals Treville was sure it was more expensive than his parent's home, and red velvet covered the Victorian era fainting couches lining the walls.

There were paintings from all eras of major art movements adorning the walls and various pieces of pottery from all over the world sitting on equally expensive stands made of mahogany. In the center of the large room was an incredibly ornate desk—also mahogany, a theme of the room it seemed— sitting two men, also in suits. The desk was long and could comfortably fit three behind it.

One of the men was older than the other; hair mostly gray, skin under the eyes starting to sag. He had minimal wrinkles but it was obvious he was starting to reach retirement age. Late fifties, Treville guessed. His posture was straight and well pronounced. He was eyeing them carefully, intimidating to say the least.

Beside him, the other was young—perhaps Constance's age. He had dark hair, long and pressed carefully into even waves. It was not a look trending with the youth of the age but it oddly suited him. Treville was vaguely reminded of old paintings of nobles. He held himself very differently, shoulders rolled forward with elbows on the desk. His eyes were lit up with excitement and his sole focus was on Aramis.

Treville felt his Source scoot the barest of inches closer to him, dark brows furrowed.

"Welcome, gentlemen." The younger greeted, nearly sing-song. "Please, take a seat!"

There were a couple of chairs, ornate designs of what Treville recognized as the fleur de lis adorning the back. With a gentle push, he ushered Aramis to his seat and took the other himself, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat, back straight.

"I am Armand Richelieu, this is my associate. For now he shall go unnamed."

"Nonsense, Louis is fine."

Never before had Treville felt such a kinship with another man as he did at that moment. The annoyance bleeding through the older man's face was one Treville had experienced over and over again with the child sitting next to him. Breathing a bit easier, he nodded at the two of them.

"My name is Jean-Armand Treville, this is Aramis."

"Jean-Armand and Aramis." Louis repeated, awe held in every word. "And you're from the Source and Inheritance Program, yes?"

"That is correct. Just Treville, if you please. We keep things a bit military."

"Very well. We have a few questions regarding this program." Richelieu flipped through some papers sitting on the desk. "Why don't you tell us what it is you do in this program."

"I am an Inheritor, Aramis is my Source. We've been perfecting the art of safely drawing energy and controlling the results of said draw."

"What kind of ability do the two of you have?" Louis asked, leaning full up against the desk.

"Shields." Treville answered, glancing down at his companion. Aramis was concentrating on something but Treville would rather him quiet than giving away information these two didn't know. "Or at least it's what we've been using it as. A force field of sorts, I suppose."

"Force fields… amazing!" Louis sat back, fingers interlacing over his stomach. "And what can you do with them?"

Richelieu gave a small sigh, gesturing with a hand for a demonstration. Treville nudged Aramis and the boy stood, his chair squeaking against the marble floor. Treville winced and picked up his own, placing it a fair distance away. Aramis moved to do the same but Treville gestured for him to stand still and did the task himself.

"If you don't mind, we'll keep it small. I'm sure many of the items in this room are expensive."

Aramis started a link and nearly instantly the pale blue he'd come to know materialized around his left fist. Holding it out for them to see, it took minimal concentration—thankfully, as his nerves flared—and it changed shape to flat and circular, thin, but sturdy.

"We've been testing its strength against various degrees of firepower. It's held up against handguns, shotguns, and so far a few rounds of an assault rifle. I can control its shape," he paused for demonstration, circular shape squeezing itself into square, then triangular, "size, and density."

"How big can it go?" Louis asked, eyes wide in wonder at the foreign object.

"We've been able to shape it to our training room's dimensions, but I'm afraid we haven't tested the absolute limit of it yet." Treville hesitated for only a fraction of a moment, but it was clear Richelieu caught it. "There are concerns for Aramis's health. The top priority is well-being; this has its dangers."

"So I've heard." Richelieu drawled. "Thank you, you may sit again. I've got some questions about the process."

Treville stopped the draw and waited patiently for the line to drop. Aramis side glanced up at him nervously, biting the corner of his lips. Treville gave him a soft smile before realigning the chairs to the previous set-up. Aramis took his seat once more, the urge to swing his feet great. Treville had schooled him on proper behavior in front of the investors beforehand and he fought against the urge.

"There has been some information passed along to us, but I'd rather hear it from the horse's mouth. Tell me in detail what it is exactly that you do when you transfer energy."

Treville left out nothing, answering follow questions about drawing, establishing a line, dropping it, and even Aramis's unique ability to cut the line himself. Aramis himself briefly described what he did, but left out the back story behind the discovery. There were more questions about side effects, the frequency of their practices, what their intended uses for their power was, and even a few questions about Constance.

Treville tried to be as polite as possible at some of the more… personal questions. He kept things concise and to the point, hoping it would be more appreciated than a drawn out explanation. Richelieu wrote notes the entire time, looking up from time to time to study them. Louis was continually excitable, far more interested in what they could do, how long they could hold a line, and what it felt like to use the powers.

It was going well until Aramis opened his mouth.

"You're an Inheritor." He jutted his chin to Richelieu, and turned to look at Louis. "Are you his Source?"

Louis's mouth dropped open at the declaration and Treville nearly shoved the boy off of his chair for saying such a thing. He hadn't noticed anything himself but such an accusation was bound to rub them the wrong way. Had he not been listening to a word of caution they had told him prior to the meeting?

"I'm so sorry about hi—"

"Incredible! You can sense that?" Louis was on his feet in seconds, making his way over to Aramis who was trying to shrink back into his chair. "How did you know?"

Richelieu was practically scowling. "Yes, I'm interested in that as well."

Treville guessed it was confidential information. Unfortunately, not much was kept secret with Aramis, whether it was other's secrets or his own. Now that he mentioned it, Treville hadn't noticed any buzzing.

"I…" Aramis struggled to get the words out in lieu of the man in his face about it. "there's a buzzing. It's hard to explain."

"I didn't feel it." Treville murmured, hoping it stayed under the radar of their hosts.

"It was quiet. I wasn't sure." Aramis said quietly. "But I thought it was weird that they wanted to know all of this stuff."

"Investors are supposed to go through these things thoroughly." Richelieu chastised. "It's a normal part of any operation regarding money."

"But you've been writing a lot down." Aramis pointed out, gaining a bit of confidence. He turned to Louis, hanging on every word. "And you were more excited than me when I first found out we could do this. So I thought the buzzing was definitely real."

"So cool. Really, you've blown me away."

"Louis." Richelieu's tone was stern and it calmed the younger man down significantly.

"Really, you're such a buzz kill." Louis huffed. "They've got the answers to our problem, so why play on the bravado? This is exciting stuff and I'll not have you intimidate our guests."

Richelieu mere rolled his eyes and sighed. "This is far more serious than you're taking it. If these two go around running their mouths—"

"Please, spare me the lecture." Louis groaned, leaning back against the desk. "These two are trustworthy, I can feel it. We've got the money they need anyhow. They'll do what we tell them regardless. That or we can always burn them to the ground at a moment's notice. You worry far too much."

There it was; the bite Treville had been waiting for. Despite the fun loving attitude, Treville knew whoever this Louis and Cardinal were, they knew how to play everything their advantage. Money and power was all it really took to finagle anyone into doing whatever they wanted. Treville suspected their investors weren't exactly strict law abiding citizens. Nearly everyone with wealth had their hands dipped in something shady and this Richelieu seemed to be bathing it.

"It's my caution that's kept us alive."

"He's got a point, I'm afraid." Treville risked speaking up. "I'm not sure how much you know about the Spanish at the moment."

"We are well aware, hence the caution." Richelieu eyed him warily. "You're a military man, aren't you?"

"For many years. I dabbled a bit in unique operations, but I'm sure you've done your research."

"Indeed." Richelieu stood himself, coming around the mahogany desk to lean back against it just as his partner had done. "Now that we've been ousted by a child, let's get to the negotiation. As you've discovered, I am an Inheritor. I have yet to draw from my associate due to the dangers involved. You two are the only pair in France to have successfully done so."

"Teach us." Louis paraphrased. "I don't want to die but we need to prepared just in case of a security breach."

"We'll fund the continuation of your little program and keep an eye on your results should you agree."

"What do you suggest in terms of teaching you?" Treville frowned, unsure he was liking where this was going.

"You'll come here everyday and work with us. If I connect with you, learn how to start a line and you can teach Richelieu how to draw, we can work from there." Louis explained. "We only need a headstart."

"No." Treville shook his head. "I've got to stay with him. There's someone else in facility who also needs my protection. I can't leave them for long periods of time."

"You're refusing us?" Louis was inbetween dejected and insulted.

"I'm countering." Treville offered quickly. "Once a week. It gives you ample time to practice in between sessions and I'm able to keep an eye on those I have a commitment to. I also require that the staff stays the same. No changes to the program without discussing it with both the director and myself. We know what's best for the program."

The two men were quiet for a time, running it through. Aramis shifted in his chair, looking between the three adults uneasily. Louis clapped his hands loudly and a smile graced his face, revealing perfectly straight, large teeth.

"You've got yourself a deal! Let's get it in writing."

Letting out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Treville felt the tension leave his body. Richelieu was still eyeing the two of them, but he was obediently returning to his desk and shuffling through one of the drawers.

It took three hours to talk about terms and conditions and Treville signed more paperwork than he'd ever signed in his entire life. Aramis kept himself busy by inspecting the various art pieces in the room. He knew better than to touch, but Treville kept a silent eye on him anyway. Gathering the documents, Richelieu tapped them into a straight pile on the desk before gesturing for their release.

"We'll have these sent to Director Limon for signing at a later date. Thank you for your cooperation and we look forward to working with you."

"Thank you for seeing us and I apologize for the delay." Treville shook hands with both of them and called for Aramis. The boy returned to his side, making sure to keep a wide berth of Richelieu. "I hope we can work amicably."

"I'll send for someone to pick you up on Thursday, then. We'll be at my home and not this stuffy old office. A more suitable place for privacy and workspace." Louis laughed at himself, no doubt having made a joke only he understood. Richelieu humored him with a tight lipped smile. "Good evening, gentlemen, have a safe journey home."

"Thank you."

"Thanks." Aramis nodded at them and awkwardly followed Treville out the door.

The guards watched them go, one pressing a button on the outside of the elevator and the door slid shut. Treville let out a heavy sigh, head knocking slightly against the wall of the elevator. Aramis kept quiet, rocking back on his heels once more. The receptionists had changed, a man bowing his head respectfully as they exited through the revolving doors. The guards allowed them to wait on the steps while the car was sent for.

Sylvia pulled up in the sleek black car they'd ridden in on the way into the city. Director Limon was nervously fidgeting in the passenger seat as they got in, relaxing into the plush interior.

"How'd it go, lads?"

"Well, I think." Treville answered tiredly. "We're very much ready to go home."

"I'm sure you'll fill me in on the details after some rest. I apologize for the stress it put on you."

Aramis shrugged, eyes glued to what lay outside the window. The lights were still as bright as they'd been when they entered the city, but it seemed dimmer, lulling the boy into sleep a half hour into the drive. Treville ended up carrying him to bed when they reached the facility. He was making his way back to his own rooms when he caught sight of Ninon leaning against his door with two cups of something steaming in her delicate hands.

"Thought you could use something to relax you after a hard day's work." She smiled at him and he must have looked absolutely wrecked because she followed up with; "You certainly look like you need it."

"Not my first time dealing with the rich, but it's a whole other story when you put a kid in the room."

"He didn't say anything that terrible, did he?" She watched him, amused as he held the door open for her. "You don't look that awful."

"I don't know how he does it." Treville sighed, sinking onto his bed and gratefully taking one of the mugs. Hot cider, he realized with a sip. "He managed to risk the entire deal."

"What did he say?"

"I'm under oath not to repeat it." Treville shook his head. "But it's landed me in a position I'd rather stay far away from. Honestly, I don't know how he gets me further into this every time."

"You're under oath." She repeated flatly. "Under penalty of death?"

"Under contract to save the program. You're welcome." He set his cup down and kicked off his dress shoes. "It's been a long day. Thanks for the cider, but what I need now is some sleep."

"Don't think I won't get it out of you—or Aramis." She quirked a playful eyebrow at him.

"He won't say. He's been sworn into secrecy as well." Treville removed his jack and worked on the buttons to his white shirt. "Don't pressure him; it's not a secret that's worth the consequences."

She sighed, taking a drink of her own cider. "Fine, but I'm not happy about it."

"I wouldn't suspect you would be. Goodnight, Ninon. Maybe I'll be in a better mood tomorrow."

"Maybe." She agreed, pulling the door shut behind her.

Treville groaned, kicking off his pants. He would probably care more that he just sent a woman away from his room tomorrow. For now, sleep was his mistress and she accepted no other to distract him.


	11. Chapter 11

Constance slunk down the halls, her heart beating wildly in her chest. After weeks of mulling it over, talking to nearly everyone she knew, sending a letter to her mother and father,—though she hardly believed that they actually did as she asked and sent it out—she felt perhaps finally, finally, she came upon a decision. The only left to do was to talk to Treville about it and if anything that scared her worse than locking into an actual decision.

What if he didn't want to work with her anymore because she'd taken too long? Was Aramis angry? The kid hadn't gone to her at all in the past month and it was nerve wracking. She had, after all, put his—what was Treville to him? A father figure? A friend? Neither? She never understood the strange relationship—Inheritor through the floor.

Despite the endless assurances that it wasn't her fault and that really it was Treville's for not being able to control what he was doing—Constance had vehemently disagreed—it was difficult to resolve the guilt. She'd apologized half a dozen times to the man and he'd taken it again and again, but perhaps it really wasn't him she needed to apologize to. The nine year old brat who was far too nosy for his own good was a constant point of unease in her mind.

It was just her luck that she couldn't find signs of them anywhere. They weren't testing and Ninon wasn't in to let her know what was going on. None of the guards would tell her the whereabouts of the pair and shooed her away when she persisted. Rude. She was left with going to the kitchens. It was a less than ideal situation.

While Madame Serge didn't have a problem with her, a few of her staff did. Not that Constance expected to get along with everyone, but one of the boys had hit on her and she'd been less than pleased, bluntly stating she was still engaged. This had pissed off his sister, who in turn took to spreading less than pleasing descriptions of her character around the kitchens.

Thankfully, she hadn't been in that particular day and Constance was met with an indifferent Gilliam, more focused on getting the trays stacked and ready for dinner. He was slightly irritated to go fetch Madame Serge, but in the end Constance got what she wanted: answers.

"They're away on business." Madame told her tiredly. "Far as I know it's just for a day, but it'll be a frequent thing. Some sort of new commitment Treville isn't happy with. You've come to your senses then?"

Constance flushed brushing a loose strange of hair out of her face. "Well, it's not as if I asked for him to go through the floor."

"Treville's got himself a hard head—never seen a man so stubborn as he. He'll be fine. It's you lot I'm worried about; you're a rare thing in this world you know. I can't imagine being in your position but I can assure you, you're in good hands. No one here'll let anything happen to you without putting up a fight."

"I know," Constance reassure hurriedly, "I just didn't expect for anyone to get hurt."

"It's part of this new life you live. If any us weren't here we'd be somewhere far more dangerous, you hear?" Madame furiously scrubbed at a spot along her counter. "Not one of us doesn't have a history. We're good at what we do, but there's a reason we're here. And it may not look it, but we're happy. Don't let Suzette bother you; she's just protective of her brother."

"You know about that?" Constance felt her heart sink. "I didn't mean to cause any bad blood."

"Not your fault. There's underlying problems within the family. I told you, everyone here's got history." The woman sighed, throwing her towel into a nearby bucket with a loud slap. "Don't let the others hear it, but I like you. You've got a decent head on your shoulders and it's nice to see little Aramis have someone to connect with. Being a kid is hard in this kind of environment. He tends to be a bit more reckless for the hell of it. He needs someone to help him rein it in. Treville isn't enough, bless the man."

"I think I've done wrong by him after our accident." She admitted to the head of kitchen staff softly. "I'm not sure whether to apologize or… or just leave it."

"Aramis is as protective of Treville as Treville is of him. Don't think he noticed until recently, but the boy has very little and it was a shock to the system to realize he could lose someone. It's a natural part of growin' and he's settled a bit. He doesn't see you as a threat, if that's what you're worried about. He may be a little more distant but he'll get over it in time."

"How do you know?"

"I talk to him." Madame shrugged. "We've got a bit of a nightly ritual. He listens to an old woman croon about aching feet and in return I listen to him whine about rules and boredom. Someone's got to eat the leftover desserts anyhow. Doesn't help the waistline but we don't waste food in my kitchen."

"That… sounds so incredible. I have to say I'm a bit jealous."

"Maybe one day he'll invite you."

"We'd have to be talking first."

"Give it time. He's got his hands full at the moment worrying about the stubborn fool putting too much on his plate. I wouldn't be surprised if Treville keeled over in the next few months from working himself to death." Madame stood slowly, stretching her back in the process. "I'm sure Aramis would be grateful for a bit of help keeping the idiot from drowning himself."

"Thank you." Constance told her as sincerely as she could. "I haven't got many to talk to and this… this was what I needed."

"I see a lot working in the kitchens; part of the job to make sure everyone's able to eat with a smile on their face. Waste of my husband's talents if no one enjoys shoving his food into their gobs."

"If there's anything I can do to repay your kindness—wash dishes, anything—just let me know."

The woman merely waved her off and returned to behind the counter and out of sight. Constance took a deep breath and stood herself, clearing the kitchen to go find her boys. She'd wait by the entrance all day and night if she had to.

It turned out, she did. The guards were a bit uncomfortable at having her sit on the dirty linoleum floor, painting her nails—Ninon had lent her some polish in a lovely shade of pastel pink—and humming every once in a while some themes from the latest dramas she'd been watching before being forced into captivity here.

She had no idea what time it was. The guards had switched twice at the gate and she'd taken a break for dinner hours ago when finally she caught sight of Treville hunched over and working his way further into the facility. She scrambled up onto her feet, collecting the nail polish in one hand and watching somewhat amused as Treville paused every once in a while in his trek to adjust the boy on his back, out like the dead.

Treville looked surprised to see her but only greeted her with a curt nod. Frowning, she took to following him, speaking softly.

"Where were you? No one would tell me anything."

"Out on business. Next time, I'm going alone." Treville grouched, once again hitching in his steps to do a little upwards jerk. Aramis mumbled softly in his sleep at being jostled, arms hanging limply over Treville's shoulders, but didn't wake.

"Next time?" Constance couldn't halt the accusatory tone. "There's going to be a next time? What were you doing, shopping?"

"Can't say." Treville sighed. "Thursdays just got more troublesome."

"Can't say or won't say?" Constance huffed. "A secret is it?"

"Yes. You'll just have to trust my word when I say it's far more dangerous to spill the secret than it is to keep it. Even to you, so I would appreciate it if you could drop the subject. What are you doing out here in the hall anyway?"

"Waiting for you. I wanted to tell you something."

"Can it wait?" Treville grunted, hiking the boy up once more to a more comfortable position on his back. "Perhaps til morning?"

"I've been waiting all day and night. It's sort of big news, you know."

"Ah." Treville muttered, continuing his journey forward to Aramis's room where he could drop off his heavy burden. "Go ahead then."

"Well I've decided—if you want to, that is. I mean, I completely understand if you don't want to. It's not like it was enjoyable for you last time—"

"Constance."

"Right. I've decided to be a Source again. I mean, to practice or whatever it is you call it. It's better to get a handle on it than to just let it go and I trust you—well, I mean, I'm sorry again about you falling but if you're willing to try again…"

Treville stopped in his tracks; Aramis mumbling something again and scrunching his nose unpleasantly. She wasn't sure what to do as he blinked at her in lethargic shock. He didn't say anything for a time before starting up again, turning a corner and down another hallway.

"Is that a yes… or…?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know anymore after that reaction.

"I don't know. I'm stretched thin enough as it is with both Aramis and—look, at this rate I'll need two of me and I don't think I could—" He jerked so suddenly to a stop and twisted around so violently to face her that Aramis woke with a small whine, arms scrabbling to find purchase on Treville's button up. "That's it."

"What's it?" Aramis muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and straightening up on his back. "Is it morning?"

"Constance, it's great that you want to continue, but I've got my hands full. How would you feel about another Inheritor coming in?"

That woke Aramis up instantly and he kicked his feet out, wiggling his way off of Treville's back. The man was all too happy to let him go.

"What do you mean another Inheritor? None of them are any good." The nine year old protested. "They'll kill her."

"Not if I train them." Treville pointed out quickly. "If I work with them just like—it's a proven method. If you can trust me to do it."

"Train them?"

"I guess it did work with—" Treville's hand slapped over Aramis's mouth and the boy wormed his way out of the silencing act. "Right, okay, sorry."

"You've done it before? Trained another Inheritor?" Constance wasn't too sure. She'd never heard of another Inheritor being able to safely draw from a Source and after the last time—the frightened look on Treville's face as he sank through the floor—she wasn't so sure she wanted to go through that again with someone else.

"Yes. It's just a matter of educating them how to pull. Most of the time they don't know what's going on until it's too late."

"I don't think I can do it. I mean, I sent you _through the floor_. What am I going to do to them? What if they freak out and just take everything? What if—"

"I'll do it." Aramis piped up sleepily over her nervous rambling. "I can cut the line if it's bad. You can't."

"You don't know she can't." Treville scolded. "Don't just assume things. She hasn't had enough practice to find out."

"Exactly. I've been practicing for years, so let me try. I know how and she looks really scared."

Damn if the kid wasn't intuitive. She was terrified at the thought of it. "He's right, I think. I mean, at least we know what will happen if we practice again, right?"

"That's true… but if anything happens to you…"

Aramis waved him off. "It'll be fine! I'll be ten next week, I know what to do. Besides, if we have another Inheritor then it's double the powers!"

"Is that all you care about?" Treville grumbled.

"Madame Serge told me you've been doing too much lately." Constance pointed out, crossing her arms.

"I won't do it with the others here." Aramis changed the subject, more interested in what he was agreeing to than watching Treville be scolded for overworking himself. "I want someone new."

"We can't just grab someone off of the street." Treville rolled his eyes. "It doesn't work that way."

"That's what happened to me." Constance quirked an eyebrow at him. It was a bullshit excuse after everything she's been through. "I was picked right up and swooped off to this hellhole without even knowing what happened."

"You really want us to do that to someone else?"

He had a point, not that she was going to admit it. She was probably a missing persons at this point and to drag someone away from their life—hold up.

"What about Jacques?"

"They couldn't find him, surprisingly. They were going to bring both of you in since you managed to survive together. He took off and apparently they don't have the resources to track him down. For all we know the Spanish have him." Treville saw the devastation the information caused and cursed his own mouth. Backpedaling quickly in order to save what little face he had left in front of his Sources he added; "We don't know that, but it would take a long time to find him and even then there's no guarantee. I'm sure he's freaked out and in hiding."

"Oh god, all this time and I never even thought about what had happened to him. I figured he was just waiting for me to come back." Constance ran her hands through her hair, pacing in a small circle. "He's going to hate me—my whole family is going to hate me when they find out. Connie's just sitting around while her fiancé is out there trying to avoid being used as an experiment by the _fucking Spanish_."

"I'm sure he's fine. It's not like he can do anything without a Source. He's probably useless to the Spanish." Aramis shrugged. "I don't want him anyways. I want someone fun."

"This isn't for _fun_ Aramis. This is serious; remember when I said you _could die_?"

Treville wasn't sure he could handle the kid much longer. First he creeps out their investors with his creepy little boy handshake in the stomach—an honest mistake, Aramis had assured him, he wasn't used to linking with someone different. No, it's not as if their lives depended on Richelieu getting the hang of energy transfer. What _possible_ repercussions would it have to freak him out? Treville was going to strangle the boy.

"I don't care. I told you, I can cut the line."

"I'm never getting married. My life is over. Just take it all, I don't even care anymore."

"Don't be dramatic." Treville chastised Constance before turning back to Aramis. "And you, you've got no sense of self preservation in the least. If anything _I'll_ be the one to pick the Inheritor. I've had enough of people jerking me around. We're going to do this _my way_ or so help me there'll be no practice for either of you."

That shut them right up and Treville could handle the glares and the mutters of discontent. Let them be mad, he'd had enough. Sources were far more trouble than they were worth and he never should have agreed to this stupid program. Fuck his curiosity, it was logic from here on out. Never again was he going to be wrapped around a little boy's finger and an old man's lack of control over said little boy's behavior. Two years hadn't straightened things out and in the end he'd ended up shouldering all of the responsibility over not only their own lives but the fate of the facility.

There would be words with Director Limon tomorrow; the meeting was bound to be long but at this point Treville had been left with little other option. He was going to be swallowed whole under the pressure before long.

"Go to bed, both of you. I'll speak with the director tomorrow."

Reluctantly, the two did as told, waddling off in the same direction. Treville let them, knowing full well Aramis was going to Madame Serge for treats and a bitch fest over "mean old Treville who doesn't like fun". God, he needed someone on his side.

Vaguely he was reminded of Ninon, nice enough to keep an eye out for him. Then again, the doctor was just as easy to cave under his little Source's whining as anyone else in this accursed facility. He sighed as he thought about the night she'd come to see him after the meeting. He was being unfair to her as of late; between the demands of so many people he was beginning to lose the relationship they've cultivated over the past couple of years.

That was second on his list.

First was to put some control back in his life.

It came as a complete shock when Director Limon agreed with him. Two Sources, two Inheritors. It made all the sense in the world and Limon would have brought it up earlier but after Constance refused to work with anyone else he wasn't so sure Treville would be willing to give up Aramis to another Inheritor. He was mostly correct, but when Treville demanded he have a say in who was going to be his replacement, Limon had simply smiled and wished him luck in the hunt.

Just like that. All he had to do was open his mouth and everything went his way. Treville wondered what took him the hell so long. It was by luck that after flipping through profile after profile of Inheritors tracked by the strange marker Ninon had discovered that he came across a familiar face. Trustworthy, dependable, and circumstantially trained in combat, Treville had found his candidate.

He kept the identity of the Inheritor a secret from his two irritatingly curious Sources. The last thing he needed was for them to scare off the one person he trusted to do this job—although it was a matter of showing him the ropes and hoping he could learn. Treville prayed they weren't completely put off by the creepy feeling of Aramis's energy handshake.

* * *

Constance sat perched with Aramis on a table in the surveillance room, munching loudly on some popcorn they passed back and forth. Aramis was swinging his legs, hand reaching for the bowl every fifteen seconds.

"That one." He pointed to a monitor labeled Camera 6, a tall bald man looking around with his hands in his pockets.

"No way. Too creepy. He'd never let you near that guy." Constance swallowed, tongue flicking out clear away a bit of melted butter left on her bottom lip. "Try nine."

"Nuh-uh. She's works in the other sectors as a doctor. Ninon told her name once but I don't remember."

"Fine, twelve."

Aramis snorted. "There's no one in twelve."

"Yes there is, in the bottom right corner."

"That's definitely one of the guards." Aramis reached into the bowl, shoving a handful of entirely too much popcorn into his mouth.

"Yeah but you know Treville. He's so… military."

Aramis continued to munch, eyes locking on Camera 15. He lightly slapped her leg, pointing to the lower left of the screen while hastily chewing and swallowing the mouthful of popcorn, coughing a bit when an unpopped kernel hit the back of his throat on the way down.

Constance thumped against his back for a second until the boy could breathe again. Once the coughing fit died down—an unsightly bit of white half chewed popcorn escaping his mouth until he got a handle on his body's unconscious decision to choke him—he rasped for her to check out Camera 15. Constance observed, impressed by his ability to pick out Treville's image in a small crowd of people.

"Yeah, I see it. But which one do you think it is? There's like five guys there."

"The big one. It's got to be. Look at him, he's perfect!" Aramis gushed, hopping off of the desk to get a closer look.

Irritated, Constance also hopped off, tossing the nearly empty bowl of popcorn to the side. Aramis had blocked her view in his attempts to meld himself into the screen. Squinting, the two of them watched Treville clap the mystery man on the shoulder, gesturing for him to follow. It took them a moment to find them on another camera as they moved out of range of Camera 15, but luckily the new camera angle and less people as a distraction allowed them to see this potential new Inheritor up close.

He was handsome, Constance noted, with beefy arms and a killer smile. The way he walked spoke of confidence and god that was attractive. Glancing down at the ring on her hand she bit her lip and told herself it was fine to look. Who knew if she would even see Jacques again in the first place?

"He looks like he's part of the army. I hope he isn't as stuck up about the rules as Treville." Aramis pressed his nose to the screen, huffing when Constance pulled at the back of his shirt so she could see.

"He could just be new security detail."

"His uniform is different than the guards. Plus, he's way too happy." Aramis grinned back her, eyes flashing with mischief. "He's perfect."

"You don't even know him. He might be mean or, god forbid, not like you at all. Maybe he'll be my Inheritor instead." She gave him a look and jutted out her chin, flipping her hair over her shoulder haughtily. "He might like me better."

"In your dreams." Aramis rolled his eyes. "I thought you didn't want to work with anyone but Treville?"

"Maybe I've changed my mind."

"You can't just do that. We already agreed."

"I didn't promise anything; I didn't sign any paperwork and it's not like he's got your name written on him." She irrationally felt the need to stick her tongue out at him. What was she, ten? She'd been spending far too much time cooped up in here with him. "Why don't we let him decide?"

"I've got a better idea." Aramis slid off his socks, throwing them at her. "Whoever gets to him first wins."

She blinked at him a moment and then he was out the doors, bare feet slapping at the cold linoleum as he took off running at full speed. She hastily followed after, ignoring the looks of a passing—well, no lab coat, definitely scientist—woman, but lost track of Aramis after three turns. She was completely lost after a few more turns and thought about asking for directions when someone approached her from behind.

She jumped and barely held in a scream when someone tapped on her shoulder, whipping around to give them a piece of her mind when chocolate eyes drowned every negative thought in her mind. She stared at the man dumbfounded; he looked very concerned for her.

"You alright?"

"Uh, yeah, I just… I was looking for… someone…" Smooth, Constance. "There's a boy—he's fast and I lost track of him."

That sounded even worse and she felt her face flush at the uncoordinated response. He seemed to take it in stride, however, and took a few quick glances around.

"Haven't seen no kids, but I guess I can keep an eye out. Your little brother?"

"Oh, no. No, he's just someone I—you know I've never seen you here before. Are you a new security guard?"

He smiled and she sent a quick prayer up to whoever was listening that Aramis found himself lost for a very long time. He ran a hand through tight black curls, shifting into a more casual position.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I don't think so, but I haven't been told much. I don't even know what I'm doing here." The man glanced around nervously. "I was with an old friend but he was called to some sort of meeting I think. He said he'd find me afterwards so I'm a little lost."

"Oh."

She wasn't sure what else to say.

"I mean, did you need some help? I've sorta got nothin' else to do so…"

"Uh, no. I mean, he's okay. He knows his way around the facility and I guess you could say I got left as well. Constance," She quickly thrust out a hand, "nice to meet you."

"Porthos du Vallon, same." He shook her hand with a warm palm and a strong grip. "What kind of place is this?"

"This? Oh it's… well I'm not sure I can say much. Things around here are sort of top secret and I don't actually know how much they tell you." She bit her lip, words creeping up that she knew needed to stay down. Way down until he was cleared to be whatever it is he was. Maybe he really was just a guard. If that was the case it would be nice to have some eye candy around. The guilt was starting to eat at her.

"Right, sure." He backed up a little and she wondered if perhaps she'd said the wrong thing. Treville would kill her if she said something out of turn though. Aramis was right completely when he said Treville was all about safety. The guy could keep a secret to the grave. "I guess I'll just wait around here then. I'm sure Treville'll be—"

"Porthos!" Damn, Treville. Terrible timing, really. The older man was trotting to them, eyeing Constance with suspicion. "Sorry about that, there were clearance matters to take care of. This way and we'll get you sorted."

"Yeah, not a problem. Wasn't a long wait." Porthos gave a little nod to her. "Nice to meet you."

She opened her mouth to say something but he had already turned away. Slapping at her cheeks she vehemently scolded herself; flirting with some stranger just because her fiancé…

She took a look down at her ring. Over two months she'd been in the facility and the reality was sinking in. Was Jacques even looking for her? Or did he just resign her as dead or rotting in some prison cell for doing absolutely _fucking_ nothing wrong. He was the one who—

She took a deep breath and slipped the ring from her finger. Fuck it. They'd been having problems—more than just arguments over money or stress. He popped the question only six months into dating and she'd accepted because he looked at her in a way that made her feel good and he had an apartment and god, her parents were up her ass about everything.

He was freedom and in the end it was a mess. Come to think of it, she hadn't thought of him at all in the past couple of weeks. How easily he slipped from her mind, he couldn't possibly still be thinking of her.

But there was still a bit of love there. The times he'd bought her roses unexpectedly. The talks of children in the future after he made that deal with the manufacturer that was sure to move them up in the world in the evenings over wine and cuddles. The pictures they took together on their trip to Sicily.

She missed him.

Quietly, she slipped the ring back on her finger and steeled herself. It was time to tell the brat he could have Porthos du Vallon. There was wedding to plan after they figured this out. She wasn't going to sit in this facility forever. Eventually they'd let her go and she would track him down and they could have their happy ending.

There had to be a happy ending; she deserved it after everything she'd been put through.


	12. Chapter 12

Porthos tried desperately to quell the giddy words threatening to bubble up and turn him back into the awestruck teen he'd been when Treville had first approached him. He couldn't contain the grin making a permanent home on his lips, excited energy pouring into his legs, bouncing in rapid succession. Treville had led him into some sort of nicely furnished office, nothing special. There was no computer, Porthos noted, a strange occurrence in this day and age.

Treville himself sat across the desk from him in a far more comfortable chair; he scratched at the bottom of his beard, stalling. Porthos wasn't sure what he was stalling for, but at his treatment coming into the facility whatever he was a part of was big. The security clearance alone was leagues above what he'd normally be allowed and Treville seemed to be well known by just about everyone they ran into. This had to be the big break he'd been waiting for.

"It's been a long time, Porthos. Good to see you making something of yourself."

"An honor, sir," Porthos held out a hand in a gesture of thanks, "but it's you who gets most of the credit. If it weren't for you I wouldn't even be here in the first place."

Treville shook his head. "There were at least ten of you there. I gave the same speech to everyone and look at who is sitting before me and who isn't. This was all you. Don't sell yourself so short."

Porthos swallowed back touched tears. "Thank you."

"I didn't drag you way out here to bring up old times, I'm afraid." Treville adjusted himself in his chair, not quite comfortable no matter how much he shifted. "This is something far more complicated than any military operation you've ever had the unfortunate privilege of being a part of."

"Security around here's pretty tight." Porthos agreed.

"For good reason." Treville sighed, rubbing at his temples. "I'm not really sure how to put it so I'll just throw it out there. Do you believe in super powers?"

Porthos blinked at him, grin falling from his face. "This a test?"

Both men were startled when the loud blaring of a siren went off. Treville was immediately out of his chair, throwing the door open to find the girl Porthos had seen earlier—Constance, that was it—standing pale and shaky in the hall.

"What's going on?" Treville barked at her and she opened to say something but at least two armed men in uniform were starting to usher her away from them. One even made to shut the door in Treville's face. "What's happening?"

"There's been a breach!" One of them called over the siren. "One of the subjects from Sector F took a hostage!"

Porthos stood, alarmed, behind Treville awaiting orders. Constance fought one of the men who had grabbed her left arm; she stomped on his foot and fought to get to the two of them.

"Go! Get her away from here. It's too dangerous."

"Get off—It's Aramis!" She cried, throwing her elbow into an unfortunate soldier's ribs. The man was not appreciative, shoving her against the wall. "He's got Aramis!"

Porthos had never seen a man move quicker, shoving the few men aside to get to Constance's side. She was nursing what was most likely a bruising arm, hand shaking over the sleeve of her shirt.

"Who? Where is he?"

The siren was starting to give Porthos a headache and he was itching to handle a gun he knew wasn't there. All of his weapons had been confiscated at the door; not surprising considering the level of security around the facility.

"We need to move her. We've got men handling the situation already." One man growled at them. "We're wasting time and—"

"You said Sector F?" Treville gently tugged at Constance's arm, holding a hand out to halt the guards from surging forward. "That's an _Inheritor_ sector and you expect me to just leave _one of my Sources_ in the hands of your men?"

Porthos wisely kept quiet, creeping out into the hallway in case Treville needed back up. The body language of these men screamed aggressive panic. Treville glanced at him a moment before asking something to Constance; the words were nearly impossible to make out over the blaring siren that only seemed to be getting louder. She nodded shakily at him, however, and together the two moved. Porthos opted to follow, leaving three men to piss off to do who knows what.

"Porthos!" Treville called when they were halfway down the hall.

"Captain!" Porthos answered in turn, instinct allowing him to catch the fire arm tossed at him abruptly.

"I need you to watch our six! Constance is top priority in case things go wrong!"

"Got you covered!"

Constance led them down halls that bled into each other and Porthos was officially lost by the time they reached the area of conflict. Treville stopped them at the edge of a hallway, peeking around the edge to the right and again on the left. There was one man that Porthos could see, armed and ready to fire, in the middle of the adjoining hall in front of them. He was pointing his gun to the right and gave Treville a quick glance before focusing back on whatever it was he had his gun trained on. Treville receded, crouching down with them.

Finally, Porthos sent up a prayer of thanks, the siren ended its terrible wail.

"He's got Aramis in the corner of the hall. I could see three men on our side trained on him and there's got to be more on the other side." Treville told them, drawing invisible lines on the linoleum floor. "Do you know what happened?"

"We were watching the surveillance cams." Constance admitted guiltily, clearing her throat. "Aramis saw you two coming in and he wanted to—he got away from me and the next thing I knew there were gunshots and yelling. I barely managed to get a look at them before I ran to come get you."

"He's not hurt anywhere?"

Constance bit her lip. "He was yelling about not having a Source. If he's got Aramis…"

"Did he link with him?" Treville pressed, and Porthos was dizzy trying to keep up. "Constance, do you know if they…"

"I don't know. I only really heard the yelling." She looked close to tears. "He's got a gun. He could force him."

"We need to get in there _now_." Treville finally locked eyes with Porthos and he opened his mouth to ask what the hell any of that meant but only motioned for him to give back the gun. "Constance, we need to link. Can you start a line?"

"But we haven't mastered it yet." She hissed. "I could just put you through the floor again and then what good would it do?"

"It won't surprise me this time." Treville asserted. "If I can go through this wall, I can come up behind him."

"What the hell are you talking 'bout?" Porthos interrupted. "The guy would definitely notice if you just busted through the wall."

"Not with Constance's help." Treville didn't offer up any more explanation. "We can do this, together; I just need you to trust me."

"I don't think I can." She shook her head, trying to get control of her breathing. "It's too risky."

"Every second we waste is another second that asshole could be sucking him dry." Treville hissed back. "He didn't look well."

"Oh god." She groaned. "And what's plan B if you sink through the floor?"

"Take Porthos with you and run back the way you came. There's someone trying to negotiate on the other side of the hall."

"He's a loon!" She protested. "Okay, alright, let's just… let's do it."

"It's not going to work. Let's just try to talk him down." Porthos tried to reason. Whatever the hell these two were planning it sounded nothing like someone with half a brain would try.

The two ignored him, eyes closed. He tried again to say something in objection and all he received was Constance swatting him with the back of her hand and finger to her lips. He stood, inching around them to take his own peek down the hall. There had to be a better way to do this.

Sure enough, just as Treville said, there was a man in the corner of where two hallways met. The man was relatively tall, eyes wide and crazed; he held a gun to some kid's head, the other arm wrapped around the kid's chest, pinning small arms down. The kid really didn't look well; his face was ashen and his eyes seemed glazed over from behind dark hair. He had two hands clawing into the aggressor's arm, losing traction against the slippery material of a nylon jacket.

There were three men total, guns trained on the man from their end of the hallway. The way the man had curled up into the corner made it near impossible to get a clean shot with the weapons they possessed. His aim wasn't the best, he'd admit. Turning back to Treville, he managed to catch sight of the older man _going through the wall_.

He watched the two seconds it took for his role model to slip through the wall, mouth agape, and turned to Constance who was taking deep breaths to a quiet count of four. She locked eyes with him, giving a small nervous smile. Porthos touched the wall of the hallway, deeply confused to find it solid, as expected.

"What the hell just—"

"Stay the fuck away!" Came a shout from down the hall. "You can't just keep us here without a Source. It's unethical!"

"Put the gun down." Someone else ordered.

"I'll kill all of you." The man warned with a dark laugh. Porthos peeked back around, careful to keep out of sight of a man already on the edge of losing it. He didn't need to see more people showing up. "Give it to me."

The man shoved the gun hard against the kid's temple. The kid lost purchase with one hand against the man's arm, the other fisting hard around the jacket sleeve.

"I mean it. Give it to me or I'm going to shoot you." The kid snarled back at the man weakly, kicking back with a foot. The man responded in turn by shoving one of his legs between the kid's, leaning back to pull the boy off balance. "Give it to me!"

Porthos nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand reached through the wall, gun in hand, and fired off a shot. So many things happened at once and Porthos couldn't keep track of everything, but at least five more shots rang out. In the end there was Treville, huddled around the kid and what looked like a blue balloon enclosed them.

The aggressor was lying on the floor, also encased in the strange blue anomaly. Porthos wasn't sure if he was dreaming; there were small metal things imbedded into that blue thing, warped and wobbling in their own way. Then it was gone; small clinking sounds echoed the now silent hall and Porthos watched as blood pooled out around the three figures huddled in the corner.

No one moved. Porthos was barely breathing, eyes glued to the scene. And then Treville was moving, wrapping his arms around the boy into a proper hug. Constance knocked shoulders with him on her way down the hall, dropping to her knees in front of the two. She seemed not to care that her skinny jeans were soaking in the blood of a man who still lay only centimeters from them.

"Get Dr. de Larroque!" Someone called out and there was a flurry of movement.

Half of the soldiers—guards—whatever they were in this strange facility—took off down either hallway, paying him no mind. One of the guards moved in close to check on them and Constance shooed her away. Porthos found himself in the same position, creeping forward slowly. Once he was close enough he could hear the soft murmuring.

"It's alright. Hush, I've got you."

Porthos felt his heart ache at the sight. He had no idea Treville had a kid; not that he knew much about the captain. His own feelings about his self appointed father figure didn't matter. Not when the man had his own family to take care of.

"I'm sorry." The kid sobbed, clutching desperately at Treville's shirt. "I didn't mean to. I thought… I didn't know…"

"It's fine. It's all over now." Treville noticed his presence, glancing up with crisp clear blue eyes. "C'mon, Aramis, we need to get to Ninon's. Can you stand?"

Treville gently removed his arms from around the boy and the kid—couldn't be older than ten—gingerly uncurled himself from Treville's safe hold. The kid wiped furiously at his eyes, letting out another sob when he managed to catch sight of the body. Porthos resisted the urge to pull him away from the damn thing. Constance was hovering, hands wanting to touch but not and she looked just as pained as the boy.

The three stood slowly, the boy on too wobbly legs. Constance took it upon herself to clear the area, furiously hissing out that they needed space. She eyed him a moment, unsure of what to do or say to him, most likely, and finally settled on grabbing his hand.

"C'mon, it's this way." She told him quietly, tugging him gently along for a few feet before dropping his hand. One of his fingers caught her ring and he winced, but didn't say anything. She didn't seem to notice.

It became apparent after two lefts and a right that the boy wasn't up to the task. He was panting pretty heavily, sluggish in general, and veered to the left or the right every few steps. Treville managed to convince him into a piggyback ride and vaguely Porthos tried to remember the last time he'd had one himself. Not since he was very young, at the latest.

He felt a bit left out, trailing behind in stunned silence. He still wasn't quite sure what had happened; Treville went through a wall and then that blue thing… nothing about it made sense. The lingo the two of them had used before the event was confusing and he could recall Treville's last question to him.

" _Do you believe in super powers?"_

Porthos wasn't sure of the answer now.

He found himself following all the way to some strange hybrid of a doctor's office and a scientific laboratory. There was a large desk in the back of the rectangular room, very much different than the office he'd sat with Treville in. It was littered with technology from small devices Porthos was sort of familiar with to large machines he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to be familiar with.

The boy was dropped onto an examination table, quickly lying on his side. The kid still looked ill, a small sheen of sweat glistening on his face and what little Porthos could see of his chest. Constance took to gathering something from the back, shuffling around rather noisily while Treville pulled up one of the many chairs lining the wall near the door.

"Talk to me," Treville urged, "what happened?"

"Wanted to see 'im," the kid mumbled, eyelids fluttering, "an' I thought it was 'im so I let him pull. Wasn't him."

Porthos watched almost horrified as Treville reached out and pinched the kid's cheek hard. The boy hissed in pain, an arm snapping up to rub at the trivial wound.

"You know better than that." Treville scolded. "You can't just assume, Aramis, you need to be careful."

"Sorry." He mumbled, shivering despite the sweat.

Constance came back, metal bowl in hand. She passed it to Treville, who placed it in between his feet. Just in case, Porthos understood. He glanced around, looking for something to cover the kid up. He spotted an orange blanket the paramedics used for shock sticking out of a box back toward the desk and carefully maneuvered around various cords and wires leading to far too many machines.

"And? What happened next?"

"Made his skin turn into metal. Pulled too hard at the string. I had to cut it."

What the hell?

"Good, you did good." Treville breathed. "He could've killed you."

"Tried." Aramis answered in a small voice. "It hurt, cutting the string."

"You never said it hurt." Constance's voice wobbled.

Porthos returned with the blanket, easily spreading it out over the poor kid. Treville nodded in thanks at him and gave Constance a look he didn't quite understand.

"Tired."

"Stay awake. Ninon needs to make sure you're fine."

"He's dead?"

The air turned cold and none of them wanted to make eye contact with the boy. Eventually, Treville nodded.

"I promised I'd protect you, didn't I? I had to do it."

"Kay." The kid pulled the blanket up higher, shaking harder underneath it. "Hurts."

"I know. Just hang tight."

Porthos allowed a short term of silence before slumping into a chair himself. Constance kept to standing at Aramis's side, running a soothing hand through his sweaty hair.

"Can I ask what just happened?"

Treville sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Now's not a good time, but I promise I'll explain everything as soon as we know he's okay."

Porthos reluctantly accepted the response, watching the two of them tend to the boy. It wasn't long before a woman, beautiful, blonde, and very much in a hurry, all but flew through the hissing door to the examination table.

"What happened?" She demanded, ripping off the blanket much to Aramis's dismay. He whimpered but she was unapologetic as she worked, gently poking and prodding her way down his chest and stomach.

"An Inheritor from Sector F worked his way into our sector. Aramis accidentally let him link with him." Treville rattled off. "Don't know how long he was linked but he looks drained. Couldn't even walk."

"Not good. Does it hurt anywhere Aramis?" She slapped on a pair of gloves after a hurried run to her desk. "C'mon, tell me everything."

"Tired and cold." It was an exhausted whine and Porthos reached down for the shock blanket that had been tossed carelessly to the floor.

Ninon glanced at him, then did so again, confusion written all over her face. She didn't ask him anything, however, and returned to the task at hand. "No pain?"

"Bit." Came the tired response. "Head and chest."

"Heart or lungs?"

The kid shrugged weakly, head drooping to the left a bit in his fight against sleep.

"Okay, we're going to need to do x-rays, MRI—I need to work quickly. He's fading pretty fast and I don't know if this a healing fade or a dying fade."

Porthos watched Constance fist her hand in Aramis's hair, eyes wide with fear. Treville tensed up, climbing to a stand.

"Whatever you need to do."

"Get me a gurney." She ordered Constance. "Freidle and Devreaux will help you. They've been paged."

"I don't know where—"

"Left, down the hall. Just tell them what happened and they'll help you find it." The woman turned to Treville. "I need you to keep him awake."

The boy was nudged again, harder this time and he mumbled incoherently. Treville did so again, managing to finagle a bleary eyed stare out of him. Porthos sat uncomfortably, hands digging into the blanket at the lack of something to do. It took only a minute for two more women to rush in, gurney on wheels rolling with ease into the room. Constance couldn't fit past the gurney into the room and found herself right outside, looking on anxiously through the glass door.

"Treville, move." The blonde ordered, waving the other women in to the right side of the bed. There wasn't much room and Treville ended up squished against one corner of the room while the women worked, lifting the boy onto the gurney and rattling of vitals. "Let's move."

The boy was wheeled off in a flurry down the hall, leaving only Porthos and Treville in the room while Constance looked on helplessly outside, eyes focused on the quickly disappearing gurney. There was a beat of silence before Treville turned, smashing a fist against the wall. It left a sizeable dent, bits of drywall crackling down onto the floor.

Porthos wasn't sure what to say, offering up a question instead; "That your son?"

"No." Was the calm response and Porthos let the room descend back into silence. Treville let his forehead rest against the wall for a bit and eventually Constance dared to reenter, finding an awkward seat next to him, hands picking at the end of the chock blanket hanging near her knees. "Give me a moment, Porthos, and I'll explain everything."

"I've got questions, but I've got time. You said that kid wasn't your son, but it sure as hell looked it."

Treville let out a quiet snort. "You wouldn't be the first to say so."

"I can try to explain, if you want. You should follow them; he needs you."

"I won't watch him die." Treville lowered his embedded fist, turning slowly to face them. "I can't watch him die."

"You don't know he will." Constance assured, fingers picking a bit more violently at the blanket. "He could be just fine. He told me once that he doesn't tell you if it hurts because you'd freak out and never let him link again."

"What?"

Constance bit her lip hard, hands fisting in the orange material a moment before loosening back up, worrying the fabric between long fingers once more. "I wasn't supposed to say anything, but you've been practicing and he said he cut the line. You told me yourself that he knows what he's doing."

"I linked with him _after_ he cut the line. I made it worse."

"You saved his life." She argued. "Always so hard on yourself, why can't you see that we did good?"

"You saw him. He could barely walk, he couldn't even keep his eyes open."

"That just means he's drained. He could be fine."

"He's never looked like that after a practice." Treville argued back. "This isn't the same. He doesn't cut the line. We don't _practice that_."

"He lived through it once, right? He'll do it again. He has to."

It was said with such finality that Porthos knew Treville wouldn't say anything against it. He kept silent, listening intently, learning this weird lingo about strings and lines and Sources. He awaited patiently for the long promised explanation. It came two hours later, when word came back that Aramis was out of danger.

"Not out of the woods yet, but we can safely determine he'll be mostly okay." The woman, Ninon, he would learn later, warned them. "Director Limon wants a meeting in three hours with everyone involved. By the sounds of it, protocols are changing."

"That's good, isn't it?" Constance asked, voice teetering on the edge of hopeful and naïve.

"Not all change is good. Porthos, I believe I owe you a very long talk." Treville motioned for him to follow and he found himself back in that computer-less office, facing down the man who had helped him change his life as once again, the world as he knew it was spinning in a direction he had unexpectedly found himself inspired to be a part of.


	13. Chapter 13

By the time Treville had finished explaining the crazy life he was now living to Porthos, who mostly kept a straight face through it all but followed up with so many questions Treville was sure he'd die old and decrepit in that office, he was allowed to see Aramis. Porthos had stayed behind, signing the seemingly endless that paperwork needed to officially join the program. Constance was apparently sleeping in her room, although from Ninon's tone it sounded more like the girl was bothering her and she'd been sent away for the sake of the doctor's sanity.

Treville leaned against the frame of the door watching closely as Ninon replaced a bag of fluids hooked to Aramis's IV. The boy lay limp under the comfort of a thick, heavy blanket, features relaxed in sleep. His boyish face was framed by sweat drenched hair, lips parted for labored breath to squeeze past.

"You can go to him, you know." Ninon gave him a look, tidying up a few medical records strewn about in the flurry to get the boy proper care. "He's not going to break if you sit by him. I'm sure it'd be a comfort."

Treville considered it a moment, shoving off of the door frame to occupy the chair sitting between the left side of the bed and the wall. He would be able to keep an eye on the door this way, in case anything got through the guards standing outside the door.

Felix and Gerard were on duty; they were stable men who didn't mind the boring duty of guarding a room. Most of the men patrolled an area, at least having the freedom to move and talk to each other. Security detail of a specific room was usually grotesquely dull, most employers forbidding much talk in an effort to maintain the façade of intimidation.

Treville was lenient; let them talk, let them take turns pacing the hall to stretch their legs. As long as no one unauthorized got through that door to this boy who had been through far too much in his few years of life he would have no qualms with how they did it.

"Hold his hand." Ninon suggested, gesturing for him to do so. "Jesus, Treville, he isn't dead."

He glowered at her, not in the mood to deal with any sort of teasing. The last twenty-four hours were the roughest he'd had in a long time; he didn't need patronizing from a doctor who ended up acting far more uncaring than he knew her to be. Reluctantly, however, he took her advice, gently placing his strong hand over Aramis's smaller one from over the top of the blanket.

"When will he wake?" His voice was hoarse and he was bone tired.

"Should be soon. It's been hours since we let him nod off."

"Psychological effects?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Ninon shrugged, gathering some supplies from the room into a small cardboard box. "I'm not a psychologist but I'd assume he'll be leery of strangers from now on. Might do him some good in the long run."

"He's far too trusting." Treville agreed, squeezing the hand lightly. "And so are we. Why are we keeping the other Inheritors? Neither Aramis nor Constance trust them and after this ordeal, I don't blame them."

"We've had most of them for over three years. You expect us to just let them go, knowing what they do now about the program?"

"They're a danger to Constance and Aramis." Treville argued, voice raised slightly. "One of them is dead now because he thought he could force _my Source_ into a link."

"My Source." Ninon repeated, knowing smirk gracing red, red lips. "That's new."

"Shut up." Treville grumbled. "It's a partnership."

"You say it as if I'm accusing you of anything."

Treville rolled his eyes. "Aren't you?"

"You'll never know." She quirked an eyebrow flirtatiously. "Although I might be willing to spill over dinner. You look as if you haven't eaten all day."

"Don't change the subject. I want those Inheritors gone."

"Take it up with the director. I don't run this place, you know, and yet you constantly voice your complaints to me."

"You're far more involved than you'll admit. You parade around as doctor but I know you do far more than that." Treville watched carefully for any changes on her face. "You do an awful lot of speculating for a doctor."

"I'm a learned girl, and a curious one at that." She replied smoothly. "Honestly, I'd say you have more of a stake in what goes on in this place than I do."

"Somehow I doubt that." Treville left it at that, turning his attention back to the soft wheezing of his Source. "Is he having trouble breathing?"

"Mm." Ninon rearranged the contents of her cardboard box, eyes trained down. "We've never seen a Source drained like this without the imminent fate of death around the corner. His body is trying to cope with the stress caused by transferring so much energy. It's as if he's run as hard as he could for an hour; his lungs are trying to take in as much oxygen as they can to offset the exertion. It's taking a while, but he should breathe easier as time goes on. It's not life threatening."

"That's why he's sweating so much? He was complaining he was cold before."

"The energy has heat to it; loss of energy is loss of heat. Keep him covered up and he should be fine."

"You seem so calm about this." Treville muttered bitterly. "Does anything faze you?"

She chuckled, wryly smiling at him. "I'm a doctor. I can't panic or I won't be able to do my job."

"That's a different sort of calm. You're relaxed."

"Oh? Been observing have you?" She quirked an eyebrow at him and he hastily turned away from her, color rising to his cheeks. "If you want a date, just ask."

"You're doing that thing again. You flirt when you don't want to answer something." Treville took a glimpse at her, despite the embarrassment of her previous questions. "Will you ever answer anything honestly?"

"That's an unfair assumption." She replied, sharp eyes trained on him. "Sometimes I flirt because I want to. Not that the man sitting here in a state of self pity is exactly worthy of my affections. But if you want honesty, here it is. I've been prepared to bury this child for over three years now. I've kept detached because one day he will die. One day he's going to link up with the wrong person and you won't be there to save him. It's a grim truth, but reality is hardly ever anything but cruel. If you'd like to see a woman grieve over the near loss of this child, you'd be better off waiting for his mother."

Treville let the heavy silence sit for a minute, churning over the information in his head. "I don't want to see you cry, Ninon, but I don't want to see you brush this off. It's as if you don't care about him at all."

"I care more than you know. You aren't the only one who made a promise to Vera." Her tone was clipped and she hoisted the cardboard box up underneath one arm to balance on her hip. "Remember who's on your side, Treville. Not all of us are here for the jollies of seeing a boy and a grown man play superhero."

She left, heels clicking across the floor as she went. Treville heaved a sigh, running a hand down his face. He really needed to stop pissing her off; she had managed a way to both worm her way into his heart and push all of his buttons at the same time. The stress of everything was building up and he thanked God that Porthos had agreed to join the program. He needed help, needed desperately for someone to hold him up when apparently he was insisting he bury himself in the ground.

He glanced back down at Aramis, still lightly wheezing away underneath the blanket looking far too pale and frail. He could still hear the sobs, the desperate apologies slipping rapid fire from the kid's lips. He looked so small, lying there.

Irrational guilt was bubbling up and he struggled to push it back down. He waffled between knowing he did the right thing by keeping Porthos's identity a secret to keep Aramis from doing exactly what he'd just done and knowing that because he'd kept it a secret it that it only spurned the boy to take action in a reckless manner.

What should he do? Either way Aramis was going to do whatever he wanted and damn the consequences. And here he lay, recovering from one of the nightmares Treville had dreamt for years would happen by his own hand. Did he punish Aramis for being a kid, for running and laughing and not understanding the dangers he would face for the rest of his life simply because he was who he was? Should he let it slide, leave the lesson to be learned from the life threatening experience?

Damn this kid and what he'd done to Treville. He was never so soft hearted, never so easily won over by a child, never so easily backed into a corner by some secret he needed to keep in order to keep the kid alive and healthy. Aramis was his weakness now and Constance along with him. They were a responsibility he never wanted but was all too secretly glad he had.

Ninon was right.

He was a self pitying fool, mourning the loss of a bachelor's life he thought he wanted. He thought he'd long ago resigned himself to this life. He should be over the longing of wanting the freedom to travel, to take his leave from the army and vacation to enjoy Christmas with his family, to call his mother from time to time, to get a dog and a girlfriend.

None of that mattered, in the long run. Aramis mattered, with his stupid grin and his mischievous nature; his reluctance to learn how to read and write and his attraction to danger. Now he couldn't imagine a world without the brat; without his presence at his side, the feel of his energy as Treville harnessed it, used it with every intent to protect the precious life in his hands.

Aramis whimpered and Treville shushed him softly, softly brushing two fingers down his cheek. The boy didn't quiet, panting out something unintelligible. He waited with baited breath that Aramis might wake, but he never did, merely whimpering like a puppy would in its sleep.

* * *

Aramis found himself very bored; Ninon had told him to be good and just sleep it off after scolding him of the recklessness of his behavior causing unending amounts of trouble. He had griped about not having a television to keep himself occupied and was promptly handed a book. It was a medical textbook on treating wounds, dry and mostly boring, but in the end he worked his way through it from sheer lack of anything else to do. He wasn't able to read most of it, but he carefully studied the pictures.

Constance visited once or twice for about an hour to keep him a bit of company but it wasn't near enough to keep him motivated to stay on bed rest. Treville was constantly in and out, coming from meeting after meeting but it was Thursday and of course he was out with Louis and Richelieu. Aramis was still sore about being banned from their practices. He hadn't even done anything weird; it wasn't his fault this "Cardinal" couldn't handle his energy.

In his boredom he was left with a lot of time to mull over the incident. He actually didn't remember too much; there was the initial link up, the sickening feeling in his stomach and the ache in his chest as his energy had rapidly left him. He cut the line almost on instinct and it only added to the physical distress. It hurt more than he remembered and the guy definitely had felt it as well.

That was when he got angry; surging forward and after that it was a lot of struggling to stay awake. He remembered the shot though, it was right next to his head and there was Treville grabbing onto him, pulling at him and he let it go. They hadn't said anything; he didn't even know Treville was there and it was a miracle they had managed to link up so quickly. He supposed three years of practice really had done something more than just allow them to change the shape and size of his shield.

He hadn't been that scared in a long time. He probably looked like a baby to Treville, crying and shaking all over the place. His face flushed at the thought of the new Inheritor seeing him like that. So much for acting cool in front of the new guy. He'd have to work on getting some shred of respect from the man.

At least it was a guy; Constance was cool and all, but she was jittery, constantly worried about what might happen. There was no chance they'd work well together as a Source and Inheritor team. Not to mention she didn't much like the guns he did. She preferred the quiet where he liked the loud, the booming force and power of them. It didn't take long to convince her she should learn how to shoot, though. She caved far more easily than he thought.

Everyone should learn to shoot a gun; it wasn't just fun, it was useful. Aramis frowned. He should have a gun, one that he can keep on him in case something like that happened again. He'd bring it up to Treville next he saw him, not that he was expecting a yes. He'd make his case anyway. Treville cracked eventually on most things; it was just a matter of bugging him until he got to that point.

Aramis kicked at his blanket, wiggling his toes as they peeked out from underneath the heavy thing. It was far too boring in the medical wing. None of the doctors paid him any attention and since the incident there was always a guard at his door. Aramis groaned, rolling onto his side in frustration.

He wondered what the new Inheritor was like. He'd seen him a little bit on the monitors but he hadn't even gotten to speak a word to him. Constance was probably wrapping him around her finger and he'd be stuck with Treville forever. He huffed, blowing a stray chunk of hair out of his face. He wanted to do something more than just shield. He bet they had a really cool power—going through walls and floors was at least cool.

It wasn't fair.

The door opened slowly and instantly Aramis was sitting up; any visitor was welcomed at this point. To his utter surprise it was the last person he expected; the new Inheritor entered with a small smile, a nod of the head, and hand waved in a greeting.

"Hey, uh, I thought I'd see how you were."

Aramis only blinked back at him, unsure of what to say. He didn't realize he was flat out staring for too long, analyzing every inch of this new person until the man shifted, putting hand back on the door handle.

"Right, it's probably a bad time. I'll come back later."

"No!" Aramis practically jumped to his knees on the bed. "Sorry, it's fine. Come in."

"You sure? I know you're still resting."

"I'm bored." Aramis blathered. "I'm totally fine they just won't let me out. It's punishment."

"Punishment?" The man took his hand off the door handle, finding his way to a chair near the hospital bed. "Can I sit?"

"Yeah." Aramis quickly waved him down, eyes wide in wonder. This man's voice was gruff and lower than Treville's. It was power hiding behind a nice exterior. "They hate it when I get into trouble."

"That wasn't your fault though, right?"

Aramis shrugged. "Probably was."

"S'not right." The man frowned, plopping into the seat. He was wearing a simple black tee and some jeans. Aramis had seen Treville in something similar a dozen times. "They can't just blame you for something like that."

"What's your name?"

The man blinked, furrowed brow easing out into a neutral look. "Oh, Porthos du Vallon."

"Porthos." Aramis repeated with a grin. "It's a cool name. Mine's Aramis. Well, it wasn't always, but it is now."

"Nice to meet you." Porthos held out his hand and Aramis eagerly reached out to shake it, ignoring the sting of his IV pulling at the back of his hand.

"Nice to meet you." He settled himself into a cross legged position, pulling the blanket around him like a cocoon. "You're the new one?"

"Yeah, I guess." Porthos shrugged. "Thought maybe I should meet you before I say yes."

Aramis couldn't stop the grin. "You're perfect!"

Porthos barked out a loud laugh. "Shouldn't you get to know me first?"

"Why? You're strong, you're new, and I can tell you aren't boring like Treville. It's fate, right? That's what my mama said when she met my dad." His eyebrows shot up mischievously. "I'll bet you get into trouble too."

"What makes you say that?"

Aramis shrugged. "I can just tell."

"Look, I got the spiel on how this place works, but I've still got a few questions. Think you can answer 'em?" Porthos spoke quietly, as if it was a secret and Aramis wasn't impressed. There weren't a lot of secrets in this place and it was just the two of them in the room.

"I guess. What do you want to know?"

"Well, I'm supposed to be the new… the one that has the powers, right? Do you know what it's going to be before hand or?"

"No. It's a surprise." Aramis narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Why?"

"Well I was just thinking it'd be handy. What if my power was to turn things big, right? Then I wouldn't want to make a dog or something big. It'd probably dig a huge hole and use the Eiffel as a bone."

Aramis couldn't stop the giggle bubbling out. "I'd ride it."

"Nah, too big." Porthos shook his head. "And what if I couldn't shrink it again? Then there'd just be a giant dog."

"We could build it a giant dog house." Aramis suggested. "And the guards could play fetch with it. Maybe Madame could make it treats."

"Maybe." Porthos shrugged. "But that's only if, you know? Who knows what it'll be?"

Aramis grinned, cocking his head to the side. "Wanna find out?"

"Can't. You've gotta answer more questions, remember? Need all the facts before we go playing about."

"Maybe you aren't so fun after all." Aramis feigned disdain. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Left it outside. Treville said I had to." Porthos delivered the line with such a straight face Aramis almost believe him. Then the face cracked into a smile and the two of them were sent into a fit of laughing. "Constance, she's a nice gal. She's been showing me around and she told me she was one of… the one that has the energy."

"Source." Aramis corrected.

"Yeah, Source. So she's new too, right?"

"I guess. She's been here for a while." Aramis couldn't quell the jealousy. Of course she'd moved in on Porthos. He was fun and interesting and here was the part where Porthos would say he'd rather be with a girl than with him. Keefer had told him that all guys would rather be with girls in the long run a year ago when he wondered why he overheard them talking about Ninon like she was the best thing ever.

"You like her?"

Aramis shrugged. "Sometimes she's fun. Especially if you get her to shoot, but she's always worried about Treville finding out that we do it."

"You shoot? Guns?"

"Yeah, it's the only thing fun to do. They lock up the guns in the Training Lab so we have to sneak in. Constance got Treville to tell her the code. She only let me in after I told her I'd help her learn to shoot."

"Huh, wasn't expecting that. What do you shoot? Targets?"

"Bottles from the cafeteria. Madame leaves them for me when she's finished with them." Aramis grinned. "Do you have a gun? Are you in the army?"

"Was. I guess since I joined this place, not anymore. They took my gun when I came though."

"You can shoot with us if you want. I'm pretty good, though, so you might want to practice before taking me on." Aramis shot him a challenging look. "Just because you're old doesn't mean I'll go easy on you."

"Cheeky little guy, aren't you?" Porthos snorted. "You're alright, after all that?"

Aramis knew exactly what he was talking about. Deflating, he shrugged. "I'm fine."

"Look, I know I'm new and all, but you didn't look fine at all. That happen every time?"

"No!" Aramis quickly shook his head. "It's never happened before; it wasn't supposed to happen at all, but I messed up."

Porthos waited for him, a silent prompt for him to continue and he debated on whether or not he wanted to spill the beans. He'd already been hounded by Treville and Ninon about it a billion times, going through every last detail of what went wrong, how not to get into that situation, and Treville's endless promises of getting the other Inheritor's out of the facility so nothing like that would happen again.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." Aramis took to laying back down on his side, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders to hide half of his face. He kept his eyes on Porthos to see how he'd react.

Constance never accepted such blatant rejection, pushing for answers even if Aramis had no intentions of talking about it anymore. Treville would dubiously leave him until he cracked, which was a fifty-fifty chance. Ninon would continue to talk to him, ignoring his petulant attitude with sarcastic comments until he was too frustrated with her own answers—wrong, mostly in every way, but sometimes right—and correct her. She was good at dirty tricks.

"If we're gonna be partners, you've gotta work with me. I don't like liars and I don't work well with secrets." Porthos crossed his arms, staring back at him expectantly. "So if that's a problem I guess I could always work with Constance. She's nice enough."

"Why don't you? She's got a huge crush on you, you know? I'm sure you'd work great together."

He caught Porthos off guard with his quip, the large man frowning a bit. But it didn't spur an answer so Aramis rolled over, his back facing the new addition to their so called team. Still, the man didn't say anything, just sat in the chair and waited. Aramis managed to wait him out near a half an hour before rolling back over.

"I'll answer your questions if you answer mine." It was mumbled, but Porthos seemed to hear him.

"Alright, deal. My question first."

Aramis scowled. "Fine."

"Why'd you think I'd go with Constance and not you?"

"She's a girl and she's old, like you. I'd bet you'd have something cool like flying with her." Aramis pulled the blanket around tighter. Speaking his insecurities out loud was making him feel sick. "My turn. Why me?"

"S'what Treville wanted. He said he needed help, here I am." Porthos adjusted in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "My turn again. What's it feel like? When you sync?"

"Link? It feels like…" Well, Aramis wasn't sure what to say. He'd never had to describe it before. It was always questions about if it hurt, if he was alright, if he was feeling dizzy, or how long he thought he could continue. "It feels like someone is tugging at me, from inside. It's not a bad feeling, and it sometimes feels cold. Like if you eat ice cream and you feel it in your stomach."

"That's freaky."

Aramis shrugged again. "It's not bad. Why did Treville pick you?"

Porthos laughed. "A long time ago Treville caught me and some friends doing something bad. Instead of handing us over to the cops he told us to make something of our lives. So I saw he was a captain in the army and three years later I joined. I thought 'I want to follow that guy'. He didn't see me as some thug, just runnin' around wild. He saw me as someone who needed something to work for. I'd follow him to hell and back if he asked."

"He's a captain? Does he have a ship?" It was hard to imagine Treville on a boat. He'd seen a couple of fishing boats when he was little, but he'd only seen a picture of a pirate ship in one of the text books he'd been supposed to study.

"No, like a leader. It's just what they call someone who's in charge of soldiers in the military." Porthos explained. "My turn. You said you messed up, before. Why did it hurt then but not when you link with Treville?"

Aramis narrowed his eyes. "Those guys just pull. It was an accident. I didn't mean to link with him and he just kept pulling. So I had to cut the string; it always hurts when I cut the line."

"What do you mean cut the line?"

"It's supposed to be my turn." Aramis protested, sitting up. "Are you only working with me because Treville said so?"

Porthos took a moment to answer and Aramis felt his heart sink. Usually when someone stalled they were thinking of a fancy way to say something unpleasant. He had wondered what this new Inheritor would be like and he was like nothing Aramis could have ever imagined. He wanted it to work, but he wasn't going to just be someone's Source if they didn't really want him.

He wasn't going to stand for being passed around as a power generator. They were supposed to be partners, and partners respected each other. They listened, like Treville did with both him and Constance. He made sure they were safe; made sure no one was going to use them up until they were wheeled into this very room to die.

"Well, I think I was," Porthos admitted, "but I didn't know anything about you and I didn't know anything about what was going on around here. All I knew was I needed to come here for something, and if the captain said to do something, I was going to do it. But I know a bit more now. I saw the captain go through a wall to save you, and I saw that blue thing—"

"Shield." Aramis interrupted quietly.

"I've never seen anything like it. I've never seen him even bat an eye and he was scared. You scared him. So now I'm curious. What makes the captain so scared? So I thought I'd check you out, see what you're about."

Aramis hadn't even thought about Treville being scared. He was far too embarrassed of his own tears and helplessness. Wait, had he said—?

"Treville went through the wall? They did it?!" He felt elated, heart rate accelerated. "He didn't go through the floor? He really went through the wall?"

"Well, yeah." Porthos answered slowly, confusion curling up on his face. "He couldn't do that before?"

"He went through the floor last time." Aramis let himself fall back onto the bed, grin sliding into place. "It only took them two times. I don't believe it. It took us five before we could even make the shield stop growing. And it took seventeen times before we could figure out that it was a shield."

"You never answered me. What did you mean by cut the string? I mean, I know a bit about transferring the energy, but I don't know anythin' about a string."

Aramis turned his head, blinking back up at the man. "It's like a secret thing. Constance can't do it, and I don't think she can see the string. It's… when they pull there's this string that goes from my chest to theirs. I don't know why I can only see it, but I know that it shouldn't ever be pulled out. I think that's why the other Sources died."

"You know any of them? The ones that died."

"No. We were separated."

Porthos nodded, his lower lip sticking out slightly as he did in an almost pout. "That's good. Might've been hard on you."

"Not really."

"You're not worried you might end up like them?" He frowned then, going back to folding his arms across his chest, eyes studying Aramis intently.

"No. I'll always cut the line before then. Even if someone like you tried to take it all." It wasn't necessarily a threat or a comfort, just a fact. Aramis wasn't going to let anyone ever take everything he had left. He'd survived twice now and he'd survive again. He wasn't afraid of the pain it brought. It was as easy as breathing to cut the line, sever it from whoever thought they could use him.

"You think I'd try?"

"Dunno, we haven't linked."

"I like that." Porthos stood slowly, stretching his back. "I've been told a lot of things about you, but I think I know enough about you now. I'll be your… what's it called? The one who takes the energy?"

"Inheritor."

"Who came up with that name?"

Aramis shrugged. He didn't make the rules; it's just what they've always been called.

"Well I'll be your Inheritor, if you'll have me."

"I'll think about it." He told him, trying to hide the smirk bubbling up.

"Yeah, well I'll let you sleep on it."

"You're leaving?" Aramis winced at the desperate tone. "I mean, it's fine if you stay."

Porthos let out an amused snort. "I guess I could stay if you want. Figured you were still recoverin'."

"It's been forever. I'm fine."

"It's only been a week."

"That's forever." Aramis explained. "And there's not even a TV."

"Cause you're supposed to be sleepin' it off. That's what the doctor said."

"Punishment." Aramis sighed dramatically, going so far as to put to a hand to his forehead. "They all hate me."

"Yeah, alright." Porthos grumbled fondly. "I'll stay a bit longer. Maybe 'til the captain comes."

"Captain." Aramis repeated again. "It suits him."

"It does. Strong, just like 'im."

"He's pretty cool, I guess. I'm cooler."

"Yeah?"

Aramis nodded. "Sure. I'll tell you all about it."

* * *

Some pretty big stuff coming soon, so stay tuned! More powers next chapter as well as the fate of the Inheritors in the other sectors.


	14. Chapter 14

It was always a pain in the ass to go see Richelieu and Louis; the constant searches, despite having been there half a dozen times already, standing in that elevator for the two minutes it took to get to the top floor, the annoying false pleasantries he was forced to say although all three of them knew he was faking the smile, and even worse the hours it took by car to get there.

The only upside was getting out and away from the facility for a while.

It was a smooth process and almost amazing at the progress they had gone through, able to hold a link for over an hour already when it had taken Aramis and Treville nearly four months to get to that point. Louis was always happy to see him, asking about Aramis and Constance and their progress. Richelieu, however, was exhausting. The man was clearly of a unique intelligence; it took immense effort to keep up with the terminology he used from time and time and even more of an effort to understand the convoluted meanings behind some of the things he said.

Treville had to stay constantly on his guard, eyes sharp for Richelieu to trap him into agreeing to something else. But while the man was frustrating, his clever mind had brought not only himself, but Louis to great wealth. He was very involved in the political world; he knew things Treville hadn't about the military side of things, and without so much as doing it directly, rubbed his nose into the fact.

Richelieu wasn't unreasonable, but he wasn't exactly personable. He certainly had his own ways of getting things done. He brought in new ideas from time to time, however, to increase functionality in the facility. They were going to be equipped with some new machines to try and help see the transfer and flow of energy better. If anything, the man was thorough when it came to information and Treville would rather that than have the men running things in the shadows be completely ignorant of what they were doing and why safety was of the utmost importance.

He sighed as he stepped out of the elevator, arms held up and out for the guards to save time. None of them even so much as twitched in recognition of him, though to be fair he never cared to memorize their faces either. The walk down the hall was as awkward as ever and Treville was not greeted as usual with the sight of Louis, arms open in glee and anticipation for the week's training session.

Instead he was met only with a slightly agitated Richelieu sitting at the desk, pouring over paper after paper. The man was in full suit, expensive and crisp, his hair neatly combed. He waved Treville in, not at all happy to see him.

"I can expect you've got a reason to come all the way out here on a Saturday."

"There's a matter we need to discuss." Treville took himself a chair, unbuttoning his own suit jacket. "I need the other Inheritors gone. I don't care where they go, but they can't stay at the facility."

The Cardinal sighed, leaning back in his luxurious chair with a small squeak. Hands folded atop the paperwork, he eyed Treville with a contemptuous frown drooping already aging cheeks,

"I can only assume you came to this conclusion after your incident a couple of weeks ago."

"Aramis has rejected every single one. He doesn't trust them and I don't think he ever will."

"You assured me you could teach them how not to kill a Source."

"It doesn't matter if the Sources we have won't bother trying to link up. The Inheritors are more of a threat than hope at this point. We've got an Inheritor per Source and that should be enough."

"I understand your concerns, now understand mine." Richelieu leaned in with all but a sneer on his lips. "We've invested in this program to understand and explore the very nature of Sources and Inheritors. You're limiting the research to be done by cutting out the other Inheritors."

"I've been tasked with keeping them safe—"

"A task you perpetuated yourself. No one forced this on you. Sentiment is a weakness in the business of experimentation, either you remove yourself or you deal with the emotional repercussions."

Treville snarled. "You're risking the lives of the Sources we have. They don't grow on trees; either we protect them or you have no program."

"Say I take your request into consideration. What exactly do you propose we do with them? They've been in the facility longer than you; they have been undergoing the same tests, eating the same food, gaining the same knowledge. They've been isolated from the world with, according to your reports, a bitterness at having had a taste of a Source's power and been denied."

"That's your problem. They're under your jurisdiction; Aramis and Constance are under mine. Find them a Source, send them to another facility, I don't care. But if something isn't done I can guarantee we're going to have a problem."

Treville could hear his heart beating in his ears, nostrils flaring in his agitation. He didn't know what kind of trouble he was stirring by making demands, but damn the consequences. He wasn't going to stand by and watch his Sources deteriorate because some psycho from the other sectors was power hungry. That man was as crazed as some addict who was going through some serious withdrawals.

"Very well. I'll see it to it personally. Any other matters you'd like to bring to my attention?"

Treville studied the man for a moment; Richelieu went from aggressive to submissive in a mere moment. The tension was gone, dissipated in a single response. It was incredibly off putting and Treville knew he'd just unknowingly signed a deal with the devil.

"Just like that."

"Unless there are any other matters, I have work to do. There are calls that need to be made, people to be dealt with."

Alarms were going off, he didn't understand what it was, but something was very very wrong. There was nothing he could say, he was getting his way. Perhaps it was that Richelieu hadn't put up that much of a fight. Something told him that was wrong too. The man was argumentative by nature, annoyingly smug and pompous; he wasn't one to simply give in.

"I'll leave you to it, then." He answered, slow, cautious. There was no change in the older man's expression.

"We won't be needing you this Thursday. There's unfortunately a meeting that takes precedence over our usual practices. We'll be seeing you the next, however."

"Give Louis my regards."

A mutual nod and he was off, back through that golden hallway to the elevator, past security and the ever chatty receptionists. The driver was summoned and he sat in the passenger seat, discontent at the feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach. He chalked it off as being prepared for a bigger battle, winning so quickly wasn't something he was expecting and he was strangely disappointed.

* * *

"Yeah, like that! Maybe try… woah!"

"Didn' know I could do that."

"This is way better than I thought it'd be. What else can you do?"A pause, then Aramis again. "Let's keep going."

"I don't think I can change it back."

"Hide it under the bed."

"S'not gonna fit. It's too big."

"Well we can't let anybody see."

"There's no closet? Who doesn't have a closet?"

"Try messing with it again. It has to fit under the bed or we're dead."

"What about a storage room. There's no way this is gonna fit. I can't control it enough to—"

Constance opened the door, unprepared for the mess of the medical room in front of her. The guards that had been posted outside for the past two weeks were gone; the other sectors had been on lockdown, most of the guards set up at the borders of each sector. She, or anyone else for that matter, had easy access to the room Porthos and Aramis had been making so much noise in.

Porthos was currently on his hands and knees, some sort of twisted metal in his hands. Aramis was on the bed, leaning over to watch Porthos. Both looked as if she had caught them with their pants down, mouths opening and closing in an effort to say something. Porthos glanced at Aramis who shook his head furiously.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

"Uh, nothing. Porthos was just trying to fix something." Aramis flashed a smile, panic setting into his eyes. "Right?"

"Thought I'd try to help out. Just made it worse, I think." He shrugged, looking away from her.

She looked at the twisted metal that was hurriedly being shoved unsuccessfully under the bed, knocking against other things under the bed that made metallic sounds. She recognized fabric wrapped around the metal, a familiar pattern to the… now missing chair in the room. She took a quick glance outside the room and down the halls. Satisfied no one was watching, she clicked the door shut behind her.

"Don't you ever knock?" Aramis grumbled draping his blanket over the twisted metal in more of an attempt to hide it. "I could have been naked."

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" She hissed back, pointing to the metal sticking out from beneath the blanket. "You expect me to believe Porthos just mangled a metal chair?"

Porthos didn't look at her, making his way back onto his feet. Aramis, however, was like a spitting viper, coiling up for an attack.

"It's none of your business."

"You know you aren't supposed to be practicing. Let alone with _Porthos_. God, did you learn nothing from your idiocy two weeks ago?"

"Quit nagging! You're acting like Treville."

"Well someone has to." She stomped her foot for good measure. "We thought you were dying—I don't know why I'm bothering to argue with you. You," She pointed furiously at Porthos, "on the other hand. Treville is going to chop you up into little bits and flush you down the toilet. Why on earth did you let this stupid brat talk you into this."

"Hey! How do you know it wasn't his idea?" Aramis's arms wobbled underneath him, and he adjusted his position, leaning back to sit on his knees instead.

"Really?" She rolled her eyes. "I honestly don't believe the two of you."

"Look, we weren't trying to go against the captain, it just sort of… happened." Porthos shifted uncomfortably, hand coming up to scratch at the scrabble on his chin. It was hardly a beard, but it was growing quickly. "We won't do it again."

Aramis threw him a look of betrayal. "Constance, if you say anything Treville might send Porthos away. Please, just keep quiet. It was just this once."

She crossed her arms, putting on the best front of bitch face as she could. She had them exactly where she needed them. "Well, what is it?"

"What?" The two simultaneously responded dumbly.

"Powers. What kind?" She clarified.

"He can bend metal." Aramis told her quietly. "We accidentally ruined the chair."

She took a few steps forward, bending down and removing the blanket from said piece of twisted metal. She tossed the blanket up at Aramis, who caught it with his face with a small grunt of irritation. It was twisted beyond repair; some bits were sharp, misshapen. Constance pulled on it, wincing at the screech of it against the floor; there was more clanking under the bed. Leaning further in, she ignored Aramis's hasty protests.

Bits of metal, twisted in shapes that dealt her no help in identifying what they were previously, sat in small piles under the bed. Looking back at the boy, guilty and flushed in the embarrassment of being found out, she growled.

"You lying little brat. You've been practicing this for a while."

"Constance, just wait, you don't know the whole story." Porthos tried to soothe, reaching out for her. She retreated, stepping over the metal and toward the door. "Connie, please, just hear us out."

"I'm going to tell him." It was almost sing song, a little girl holding valuable blackmail over her little brother's head.

"Don't you dare!" Aramis snarled. "I'll make sure Madame never feeds you dessert."

"You do that and I'll tell Ninon about shooting practice."

"That's stupid. You'll get in trouble too."

"Alright, enough." Porthos barked. "Look, tell the captain if you're gonna, but it's not going to help anyone if you do. You said to me yourself he's been wearing himself out. If he has to practice with both of you, doesn't that cut your practice time?"

Constance let it toil around in her head. It was true, and while she had never intended to spill the beans, it gave her an idea.

"Alright, but I want something in return."

"What?" Aramis deadpanned, unimpressed. "I won't agree to trade partners, so forget about it."

"Practice with me too." She sighed, redoing the bun in her hair. "Treville's been ignoring me too, you know. There's always something that pulls him away and the faster I can get this under control the faster I can get back to my family."

"Done." Porthos held out his hand and she took it with a smile.

"Besides, I want to see what kind of powers you get with me too."

"We need to do something about this metal, though. We're going to get caught." Porthos lifted the warped metal, grimacing at a particularly sharp piece that caught on the back of his left hand. "Is there a storage room or something we can fit this in?"

"There's one down by my room."

"Too far. Someone's going to see." Aramis slid off of his bed, feet padding softly on the cold linoleum. "I think there's one closer, by the Green Room."

"I hate that place." Constance complained. "There's got to be one somewhere else."

"What's the Green Room?" Porthos asked.

"It's where they put all the garbage until they can take it out with a big truck." Aramis explained. "It smells really bad and sometimes there's bugs that get in."

"It's awful. What about the vents?"

"Isn't it too big for this?" Porthos eyed the vent in the room, trying to measure with his eyes the dimensions.

"It's better than the Green Room. Let's try it." Constance was able to pull off the cover with minimal effort and carefully, the three of them slid the mangled metal into the vent, barely able to fit it. The cover of the vent was able to be put mostly back on, slightly crooked, but quick innovation with a nail and it was passable to anyone who was really looking at it.

"Alright, come tomorrow and we'll let you practice." Aramis told her. "Treville will be by to check up on me soon."

"It's sort of exciting, going against the rules." She gigged, fists shaking in anticipation. "We should find a bigger room."

"True, never know what it's gonna be." Porthos agreed.

"And there aren't any guards anymore, so it'll be easy to sneak you out." Constance added. "But where could we go?"

"We shouldn't do it anywhere someone will find us. Rooms are out." Porthos leaned against the wall, arms crossed against his chest. "Maybe the basement?"

"There is no basement." Aramis huffed, picking up his blanket and wrapping it around himself. "There's the Green Room. It's just been emptied."

"Aramis, it's gross in there."

"Yeah, but think about it. No one goes in and no one would be looking for us there. It's perfect."

"And the smell afterwards? They'll know we've been hiding in there?"

"So take a bath after. Unless you can think of somewhere else to go."

Constance was miserably silent. Porthos frowned, but otherwise had nothing to add. He wasn't exactly familiar with the layout of the facility.

"Green Room it is."

There was a quick knock on the door and Constance could have sworn her heart jumped out of her chest. Treville opened the door, surprised to see all three of them standing around.

"Good, all three of you are here." He started off awkwardly. "The other Inheritors will be rehabilitated somewhere else. They won't be a threat any longer. And it has been brought to my attention that you have made a full recovery."

Aramis beamed, lips stretching back into a full grin. "You mean I can get out of here now?"

"As long as you take it easy still, yes. We'll practice once a day only for the next couple of weeks, alright?" Treville watched for Porthos's nod in agreement. "Alright, I'll see you in the morning then."

"Thanks, Captain!" Aramis piped up as he was closing the door.

"Captain?"

"Porthos calls you that." Aramis shrugged, as if that was the end of it, looking utterly ridiculous with the top half of him swaddled in a blanket while his skinny legs clad in shorts stuck out.

Treville didn't bother correcting him, shaking his head and closing the door with a loud click. Constance waited a few minutes before letting out a breath. Porthos sagged against the wall, a small smile breaking out across his face.

"Well that's good news."

"Yeah, but you're going to have to pretend you don't know what you're doing." Constance pointed out. "And Aramis, you're going to have to be surprised. We all know how you get with powers; just put on a good performance."

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah."

"How long have you been practicing anyways?"

"Nine days, after today." Porthos answered.

"Are you serious? It only took you a day before he convinced you?"

Porthos shrugged and looked away. She was sure he must have been embarrassed, although it only took Aramis two days to convince her to shoot guns with him. Honestly, the kid had them all wrapped around his little finger.

"Constance?"

"What?"

"Thanks for not telling him." Aramis gave her a shy smile and crawled back into his bed, a little cocoon of blanket.

"I'm not doing it for free. You still owe me practices. We'll work out the times tomorrow."

"Porthos says he'll shoot with us." Aramis told her. "Maybe you'll beat him."

"Oh hush, you." She stuck out her tongue, turned to Porthos, and with a bit of pink flushing her cheeks told him; "Well, I'm not as good as Aramis, but it is fun. I know you've been cooped up in here with him, so if you want me to show you around, I'm up to it. My room's on the far side of the sector anyways."

"I'd like that." Porthos made his way over to Aramis, ruffling unruly hair. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah." Aramis agreed quietly and Constance sent him a small apologetic smile. She didn't mean to intrude on some guy time, but he'd had Porthos all to himself the past week and she'd like to get to know him too. They were all working together, after all.

She twirled the ring on her finger, pushing down any sort of guilt. It was just a walk around the facility. She wasn't going to flirt, wasn't going to cozy up to the next available—well, actually, she wasn't even sure Porthos was available. He could have a girlfriend outside of the oppressive walls of the facility.

Why he would agree to leave her to stay in the facility full time, she wouldn't know, but that was even assuming he was even taken. Did he have a family? Were they talking regularly? How old was he?

"You ready?"

"Oh, yeah." She followed him out of Aramis's "prison", as he liked to call it, and started her small tour.


	15. Chapter 15

The ringing in his ears drowned out most of the screeching of the fire alarm; his eyes remained squinted shut against the stinging of smoke in his eyes. Porthos let out a low groan, overwhelming heat now licked at his face and arms. Choking on the now polluted air, he blinked away the tears in his irritated eyes and took a look at the carnage around him.

Constance was furiously beating at a small fire in the trash to his right, cheeks covered in dark smudges of ash. She was saying something to him, maybe, but between his still ringing ears and the alarm, he wasn't able to make out a word of it. She stomped on some more trash, thick soled sneakers doing the job just fine to put out the smaller fire. More was burning around them; some isolated to small piles of trash, others just a part in the bigger pile they'd shoved aside earlier to practice.

Aramis was leaning against the wall, rubbing at his eyes, but seemingly unharmed.

"—up, you lazy bum! Don't just sit there, Porthos, help me!"

His eyes snapped back to Constance, watery and burning, but he gingerly did as she ordered. Picking himself up off of the floor was a task in itself; his entire body was heavy and sore. He helped stomp out a couple more of the smaller fires when others showed up, panicked and armed with buckets of water. Porthos could see the sprinklers outside in the hallway were doing their job, but no one had thought to put a sprinkler in the Green Room itself—a foolish oversight.

Aramis was hauled out of the room, protesting something the entire way while Constance and he were left to help completely douse the fires. When all was said and done the three of them were shoved to one corner of the hallway to be interrogated by none other than Treville and Ninon. Ninon performed a brisk once over to check for damage—only a few bruises and lumps, thankfully.

"Out with it. What the hell went down in there?" Treville's tone was dangerously close to murder levels and for once Porthos felt like hiding behind Aramis, who was still rubbing at smoke aggravated eyes. "The truth; I've had it with the lies, Aramis."

"It's not just his fault." Constance admitted, coughing a bit. "We're all to blame."

"I want answers. _Now._ "

"We were practicing." Porthos answered and shared a look with the two guilty Sources. "It was an accident."

"Practicing." Treville repeated lowly with fists clenched at his sides. "In the Green Room."

"We did it in there so you wouldn't find out." Aramis batted Ninon's hands away from his eyes, swiping at them once more.

"Look, we're sorry we didn't tell you, but you've been so busy these last couple of months and we don't even get to practice every day anymore." Porthos watched Constance carefully; anxious she'd reveal more details of what went on in there. He could hardly remember, but he did know it was bad. Whatever happened meant they'd probably be banned from ever linking up again. "If you were listening to us we wouldn't have hid it."

"It's my fault—Porthos and Constance only did it because—"

"I said no more lies." Treville cut off, stiff and nearly unreadable. "Tell me the truth."

Aramis sagged a bit, blinking up at him from his place on the floor. "You're too over protective. You won't let me do anything and so I convinced Porthos to link with me while I was still in hospital jail. Constance found out and in order to keep her quiet we promised to practice with her too."

Constance glanced at him anxiously and Porthos stared back, awaiting the final nail in the coffin. Aramis kept his mouth shut, however, staring down Treville who was breathing heavy and audibly grinding teeth. Then the older Inheritor heaved a long sigh through his nose and went quiet. Ninon took it as her cue to lecture them in his stead.

"You know that this was extremely dangerous. You know that you've jeopardized everything we've worked so hard for just for a bit of fun without any thoughts of the consequences. What if you all had died?"

"Every day we could die. It doesn't mean we shouldn't try to be better." Constance argued. "I need this to be stable; I need to eventually leave this place and go back to my fiancé and live a life again."

"Constance," Ninon started quietly, "we've already told you—"

"It doesn't matter what you told me, I'm telling you I'm not staying here forever. I have friends, family, a job, my life to get back to. It's in my paperwork; I get a handle on this, I control who can link with me like Aramis, and I'm free to leave as I please. I'm not just going to sit idly by waiting for something to happen when someone is willing to work with me."

Porthos glanced at her in shock. He'd seen the ring, but he didn't suspect she was engaged. In fact, he still wasn't entirely sure after three months of how all of them ended up here in the facility. He vaguely had an idea about Treville's involvement, but he knew next to nothing about Constance. Aramis, on the other hand, was practically an open book. Anything he asked he'd get an answer to. Ninon was another complete mystery.

"You're right." Treville spoke up with a soft sigh. "I haven't been properly paying you the attention you deserve. I've had my hands so full as of late dealing with outside threats," Porthos caught the way Ninon straightened, lips forming the tiniest of scowls, "that I haven't thought about how you might be feeling."

"So you aren't mad?" Aramis asked, voice soft and hopeful, if not confused.

"I'm furious, but I can hardly fault you for my own neglect. You're like puppies peeing on the carpet because I didn't take you out for a walk."

Porthos wasn't sure whether he should laugh or scowl. It appeared neither Aramis nor Constance knew either, and they merely awaited what punishment, if any, they were to receive.

"That doesn't mean you all aren't completely reckless and could have killed yourselves. How long have you been doing this?"

Constance shared a quick glance with him, and Porthos opened his mouth but Aramis beat him to it.

"Three months."

"Jesus." Treville put a hand to his head, taking to pacing the bit of hallway left to them. "And? You've done what, exactly, in these practices of yours?"

"Did you both link to Porthos?" Ninon rephrased, thumbing her red lips.

"Well, yes. There wasn't anyone else to link to." Constance shuffled a bit on her feet, eyes flitting between the two of them. "We were careful to go slowly, but it was easy enough."

"What is your power, Porthos?" The direct question from Treville caused him to wince.

"It's sort of hard to explain. It's like… a force or something. I can push things in a direction, kind of like magnets."

"Does it only work on magnetic things?" Ninon waved over a woman, asking for writing materials to be brought to her. "Or does it work on other things?"

"See, funny thing is I sort of knocked myself out the first time. I think it's more directional."

"He was fine, we made sure." Aramis added quickly.

"Damn." Ninon muttered. "I was hoping it would be magnetic. A predictable pattern to abilities would be nice."

"Shields and phasing don't match either." Treville agreed. "I have a feeling we'll never be able to predict them."

"So what started the fire?"

Shit. Porthos watched the mutual panic form between the three of them. Constance, however opened her mouth first and the two of them weren't sure what was going to come out.

"It was just an accident. Porthos and I linked and the force must have hit something flammable." She explained as if wasn't anything out of the ordinary. "It wasn't that bad, though. None of us are hurt, I mean. Right?"

Aramis nodded quickly, eyeing Porthos until he did the same. The two of them seemed to take the answer in stride and after a few more terse words, they were allowed to promptly return to their individual rooms while they sorted out what to report to the director. None of them argued, making their way down the hall opposite of the damaged Green Room, despite it being the longer route to Aramis and Porthos's rooms.

Constance spoke up only once they had turned a few corners. "We can't say a word of what just happened in there. It never happened, got it?"

"We aren't stupid." Aramis snapped back, still rubbing at his eyes. "I was more worried that you were going to tell them."

"Says the blabber mouth."

"You're the one who was going to spill about our secret practices last week. What was it again? The guilt was killing me!" Aramis imitated, voice reaching a higher pitch. "I feel so bad!"

"Don't be such a brat." She snapped back.

Porthos let them snark it out, far too used to the sibling like bickering. Aramis was far too much of a trouble magnet and Constance was too much of a worry wart; but together they came up with far too complicated of plans. It was almost a competition to see who could come up with the most clever plot to cover their tracks. A troublesome duo, for sure. Porthos was merely along for the ride. He enjoyed the adventure of it, the innocence of little pranks and plots to hide away from Treville and Ninon, and whoever else might lecture them about the recklessness the Sources tended to lean into.

"Porthos, were you even listening?" Constance scolded.

"Sorry, what?"

"We agreed that we wouldn't ever say what happened."

"I thought we already agreed to that?"

"Well we did it again, just in case." Aramis affirmed. "Treville will definitely lock us all up if he knew. It was awesome, though. Maybe we should try it again—"

"No."

"Never again." Constance agreed.

"You guys are no fun. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"It died with the rest of my energy. How are you even still moving after that?" Constance whined, pushing her door open as they arrived. "I'm going to sleep forever."

Aramis merely shrugged and they watched Constance close her door. "Are you sure—"

"Never again." Porthos reaffirmed, shoving aside the small Source. "Go to bed. I can tell you're tired."

"Mm. Carry me?"

Porthos rolled his eyes and hoisted the boy easily up onto his back. The kid was out before they even reached his room and Porthos gently tucked him in, unable to keep a grin at bay when he heard exhausted soft snores. It wasn't a long trek to his own quarters and he slumped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling for a while.

With a few deep breaths, he pulled shaky hands up to inspect them. He'd been through some shit—bombs and gunfire, gangs in the streets beating him nearly to death because he had the wrong color skin, wore the wrong beanie that day, or was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, broken up senseless violence in another country, but this… he'd never nearly killed them all from something he really didn't understand.

He'd never had two people put complete faith in him, put their lives in his hands and smile at him while doing it. He fisted his hands and dropped them back to his side. He now understood, if even a little, what Treville was fighting for. He understood why the man had lost his cool, punched a hole in the wall as Aramis was wheeled away for what could have been the last time.

He wouldn't be surprised if Treville knocked on his door and told him leave, despite the hallway conversation.

He never did and Porthos showed up for the usual morning practice the next day.

* * *

Life went on; Porthos drew from Constance every other day to get a handle on his strange power. They ended up just calling it the power of Force; although Aramis nicknamed it the Invisible Grenade due to the motion Porthos used to set it off. Between bending metal with Aramis and forcing things against walls with Constance, Porthos ended up a rather destructive Inheritor.

They went through at least fifteen chairs in a week and by the end of it they'd come up with an alternative target to cut back on costs. Now they used balloons filled with paint. It was easier to see the area of effect and under Constance's direction they made some unique paintings on parchment paper they'd covered the metal walls in to avoid arduous clean up.

Treville was a lot more hands on and coached him through slowly ramping up the amount of energy Porthos drew to properly gage the limits of his power while also keeping an eye on the Sources to monitor their health. Treville worked with Constance three times a day and within a month they were both able to go through walls and objects.

By the time Easter rolled around Porthos had been there for nearly a year and Aramis stuck to him like glue. Maybe it was due to less of an age gap, but Constance had teased that it was because instead of reluctantly agreeing to his schemes Porthos would only add to it, upping the danger of getting caught and at the same time thinking of various ways to cover their tracks.

Partners in crime; Porthos still considered Aramis his sidekick, however. The kid still thought small and Porthos had a good fifteen years of tricks and pranks over him. He had guts, Porthos would give him that; always willing to go one step further no matter the consequence.

Which is how he found himself crawling through the air ducts at two in the morning without a flashlight. Aramis insisted he knew the route to Sector B and a flashlight would only alert someone when they got to the other side. Porthos was far more worried about the noise, but they were able to slide their way through with only a few bumps and bruises along the way.

"What's in Sector B anyway?" Porthos grumbled quietly and shimmied out of the duct with a strained grunt.

"Dunno." Aramis shrugged, peeking around the room. It wasn't pitch black like Porthos thought, but softly illuminated by the lights in the hall.

Overall there wasn't much in the room, a standard storage space for excess furniture and some medical supplies. The door squeaked a bit when they opened it, but aside from that the Sector lay silent. It was more than just eerie walking through halls. There were rooms for people, and aside from having been obviously lived in, clothes in closets, various items on desks and sheets rumpled, not a single soul was seen.

"I don't like this, 'Mis, we should go back."

"We've only been here for like ten minutes." Aramis argued, though hushed and on edge. "Let's just stay a little longer. I feel like there's something hiding here."

"That's what I'm worried about. What if it's an Inheritor?"

"I've got you and Constance and I are the only Source's around."

"That worked out well last time."

"For the last time, it was an accident. And I cut the line, so it's fine."

"You know, you keep saying that but I don't think it's as fine as you say. I almost never got to meet you in the first place."

Aramis shot him a look. "Isn't it you who always says we shouldn't dwell on the past?"

"That's Connie," he corrected, "and that's not what she meant by that. It's better to learn from past mistakes."

"Don't nag; I've learned plenty already."

"Then let's go." Porthos watched him pout a bit, brows furrowed in confliction. "If it weren't so damn creepy I'd be all for exploring, but I've got a gut feeling and it's never wrong. I don't know what's in here and I don't really care. Let's go, we've had our fun."

"One more room and we can go." Aramis bargained, throwing in a cheeky little smile to go right along with it.

"You're gonna die one day and it won't be my fault." Porthos warned. "That one, then."

Porthos jerked a thumb to the door at the end of the hall. It was big, definitely not some sort of ordinary room. It was entirely what Aramis was looking for but the boy was staring uneasily at it.

"Why that one?" He complained.

"Because it looks the scariest and I'm not going with. You want one more, then that's the one."

"Fine." He jutted his chin out and squared his shoulders, stalked silently to the door, and with quivering breath pulled the door open.

The stench hit them immediately; rancid and worse than anything the Green Room could have offered them. Porthos instantly recognized the smell of death and strode to Aramis in fewer steps than he remembered taking. Bodies, were lined up side by side at the back of the room. There were documents laying in boxes pushed to one side, some scattered about the floor.

"What is this?" Porthos whispered in growing rage. "What the hell happened?"

"They're the new ones… Porthos, I know them."

He snapped his attention to Aramis, who was staring wide eyed at rotting faces. Swallowing back bile threatening to come up, he hesitantly approached the bodies. None of them had decayed much and it could have been that long ago that they had been dead. He couldn't see any blood or evidence of violence.

"But they're Inheritors…" Aramis sounded so very confused. "Why are they dead?"

He wasn't even freaked out, just so very, very confused. Porthos then remembered that Aramis had probably seen the aftermath of his house being blown up, other Sources dying in experimentation, being warned this could be his fate at any moment. He wasn't a stranger to the concept of death.

Still, the kid was only eleven.

"That's exactly what I plan to ask." Porthos snarled. "This isn't what I signed up for."

"Let's go." Aramis told him quietly, and Porthos only fisted his hands and leaned down to one, trying to analyze every ounce of evidence of what happened to them. "Porthos, we should go."

He took a breath, long and deep, before turning away from the bodies and following Aramis back down halls that had warned him of the gruesome end of their _adventure_. They were far quieter going back than coming and after they replaced the grate cover back onto the vent, they sat against the wall of the hall, ignoring an order by one of the patrolling night shift guards, Penzello, to go back to bed. Penzello let them be and neither spoke for a long while.

"Sorry, I always get us into trouble." Aramis sighed and sunk further down the wall, head and neck the only things upright. "What do we do?"

"We talk to Treville about it. He either knows or he doesn't. Either way, someone knows."

If Treville knew, any respect he had for the man was gone; on the other hand, if he didn't, something far more shady and dangerous was lurking and that was almost worse. The facility was so chill, so safe without any worries except the dangers of their own powers. The only struggle was what to stave off the boredom of downtime with.

Now there were bodies laying in an abandoned sector and Treville's words six months ago came back to him. The other Inheritors had been relocated; they were gone, nothing to worry about, so why were they rotting in a room? Treville had lied.

This wasn't good.

But they hadn't been dead for long… no way they'd been dead for three months. Something was fishy. How did they die when there no signs of a struggle? Suffocation? Drugged in their sleep?

Why kill them?

"Porthos?"

"What?"

"Are you going back to bed?"

"Not after that. Won't be able to sleep for a week after that." Porthos admitted. "Not 'til I know what's going on."

"Oh."

Porthos turned to the young Source and the obvious signs of distress. He was scratching at his palms, thumbs gliding harshly over trembling muscles.

"You want me to stay with you until you sleep?"

"No."

 _Liar._

"You sure you'll be fine, then? I'll go back to my room in a minute, so last chance."

"I'll be fine." Aramis muttered and pulled himself to his feet. "Treville will know we were out."

"He'll know anyways when we confront him." Porthos scoffed. "Nothing wrong with needing someone after a sight like that, you know."

Aramis hummed, but said no more. He gave a small wave and Porthos watched him open the door to his room and close it behind him quietly with a click. Nightmares, most likely, if the kid could even sleep after that. Porthos was content to sit as a self appointed guard outside his door, just in case. Any noise of distress and he'd be there anyway.


	16. Chapter 16

The yelling could be heard even outside of the thick oak door and Constance nervously kept an eye on Aramis, glaring from across the hall. He was sat upon the floor, arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees. She took up her own spot a few feet to the left, casting her eyes back to the door. The yelling hadn't stopped, continuing in a seemingly endless loop of Porthos, Treville, Ninon, Treville.

She'd lost track of how long it'd been since Porthos had barged into her valuable training time demanding answers. Aramis had only silently trailed behind, eventually having been locked out of said screaming match to take up residence in the hallway.

Constance wasn't even sure what they were fighting about—something about bodies and who is to blame for what. It was better to stay out of the line of fire and get the info out of the only one who wasn't screaming.

"I can't believe they're still going at it."

Aramis merely blinked, his glare remaining steady.

"I know you all _love_ to keep me out of the loop," She rolled her eyes and didn't even try to mask the sarcasm, "but for the love of god, could you at least tell me what started World War Three in there?"

No response. A fine day to pick to be silent, out of all the days she spent wishing for him to shut up every once in a while. The eleven year old could go from annoyingly chatty to irritatingly silent the moment she wished for the other.

"C'mon, Aramis." She prodded, crawling closer to him. "I know you know."

There was a loud bang—someone either smashed a fist into a desk or threw a chair. Either way, if the argument was escalating to violence it was better to take Aramis away. The three people he cared about most at the moment were at each other's throats, snarling in righteous fury. It couldn't be healthy for him to hear it.

"Constance."

"What?" She answered, keeping a close eye on the door. Either the argument was drawing to a close or about to escalate further.

"I should teach you how to cut the line."

She snapped her attention to him; "I thought it was something just you could do?"

He shrugged, uncurling from his rather petulant position. "Maybe it is, but I think we should try."

"Well we can't practice just the two of us. We need an Inheritor." Constance glanced back at the door when the yelling quieted. "Didn't you say it hurts?"

"Can you see the line at all?" Aramis reached out, touched her arm gently. "Anything, even a hint of light?"

"Well I haven't really been looking." She admitted. "What if I can't?"

"Maybe you do it different. How do you feel it?"

She frowned and tipped her head a bit, thinking hard. "It's not really a feeling? I'm not sure how to explain it. I guess I feel it in my stomach, if anything. A little queasy after a while. Headaches, sometimes."

"Imagine stopping it."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Stop it. How? Just… will it to stop? Say some magic spell?"

"It's what I did." Aramis muttered. "I felt it pulling out of my chest."

"Well then I guess I feel it in my head, if that's what you mean. A bit of pressure behind the eyes."

"Okay, so," he brought his hands up scissoring his fingers in the air, "just cut it."

"I still don't really get it, but I doubt you've got another way of explaining."

Another bang from inside of the room. Both of them sagged against the wall; letting the angry voices wash over the hall. It was a while before Aramis spoke again, an exhausted sigh.

"We snuck into Sector B. There were dead Inheritors in there."

Her stomach rolled and it felt like all of the blood in her face drained down to her toes. "What?"

"Porthos thinks Treville knew about it and Treville thinks Ninon knew about it."

"Wait, but why would Treville lie to us? And why—"

The door swung open and Porthos stalked out, furious scowl warping his otherwise handsome features. Aramis made no move to follow him, instead curling back up to keep his eyes on Ninon and Treville, at opposite ends of Treville's desk. From what Constance could tell, both were a hair's breadth away from shooting each other.

"This isn't over." Treville barked, hands flat on the desk. "I'm getting answers, whether or not you're willing to give them."

"You got your answers. Accept the truth and fix this, _Director_."

"Out!" He snarled, and she followed Porthos's earlier route out the door and down the hall.

The heavy door slowly creaked closed, leaving Constance around three seconds eye contact with her Inheritor before it clicked shut. The older man didn't ever open it again and both Sources never made the daring move to try to make contact.

So they sat outside the office, spirits low and questions swirling around their heads.

Eventually Constance tried to convince the boy to at least get some dinner, but he only shrugged her off. He did get up off of the floor and wander down a ways out of sight; better than sitting outside of Treville's office for the night. She wasn't sure the man was ever going to come back out.

Honestly, it was a mess. They were supposed to be a team and here they were squabbling over—well, okay, it was more than just squabbling. Dead bodies were involved and their lives had now become a murder mystery.

Dinner came and went; Madame Serge had gruffly complained that it appeared she was the only one to bothering even coming to dinner that evening. Taking two plates, she assured the elderly cook's wife she'd deliver it to Porthos and Treville. Aramis would make his own way if he was hungry.

Porthos had surprisingly answered her knocks on his door—maybe thinking she had been Aramis instead.

"Dinner." She told him sheepishly, and gave him the option of which plate to take. He appeared to want to shrug her off, but she stuck her foot in the door and wormed her way inside. "It's not nice to ignore me. Everyone else around here seems to think that it's fine and dandy to leave me out of loop, but I didn't expect it from you."

He heaved a sigh and collapsed onto his bed with a groan. "Sorry, Connie, you know I don't mean to."

"Well you could have fooled me." She set down both plates on his little desk and huffed when she sat in his extremely uncomfortable chair. "I had to drag out what was happening from Aramis and even then all I got was a botched up job at teaching me a new skill."

He rolled over onto his side, then, waiting expectantly for more. He had another thing coming. She merely stared back unflinchingly; at least he wasn't still in full on rage mode.

"What?" She shrugged after a moment or two, "You get into the Source loop as soon as I get into the Inheritor one."

"There ain't much to tell. The Captain's been lying to us, Connie, and it's the last thing I expected of someone I used to call my hero."

"You really think Treville's just up and killed all of them? After he spent all of that time stressing over what to do?"

"That's exactly what I think. He wanted to protect you two, sure, but that ain't the way to do it. It's murder, Connie."

"So why's Ninon a part of the fight then?"

"She's the one who did it."

That was like a punch in the teeth, and her heart lurched. "No."

"She confessed." Porthos asserted. "She said she injected poison when they were sleeping. Just never woke up, any of 'em."

" _Why?_ "

"That what I wanted to know, but she's pointing the finger at Treville. Said she got orders to do it from someone called the Cardinal."

"So it's this Cardinal's fault then."

Porthos shook his head. "She also said Treville's the one who made the deal with him. It's his responsibility to make sure no one else is running this facility."

"I don't get it. Who is this Cardinal and why is he involved?"

"Captain's denied anything to do with a Cardinal. He's lying, Connie, right to our faces. I'm going to find out the truth, one way or another."

"Wait. Secret outings on Thursdays." Constance snapped up from her chair. "Aramis and Treville used to go somewhere secret on Thursdays, but then it was just Treville. Ninon hasn't been talking much to Treville either. They've been fighting for a while."

"You think she's framing him?"

"No, I think he's been seeing this Cardinal on Thursdays and she doesn't like it. But why would she do what the Cardinal says anyways?"

"You saying Aramis knows who the Cardinal is?"

"He might have met him a couple of times. I don't know for certain. Maybe it's just a coincidence?"

"Or maybe Aramis knew the whole time what's been going on and he couldn't say anything about it." Porthos pulled himself up and off of his bed. "We need to know what he knows."

"What if everything you said is right." She grabbed a hold of his arm. "What if Treville really did agree to kill the Inheritors. Then what?"

Porthos took a moment of silence and she could see the wheels spinning rapid fire in his head. "Then it's not safe for any of us anymore. If they can kill them, why not us the second we're not useful to them anymore? Happens in the army all the time. One whiff of something you ain't supposed to know and there's a ditch waiting for you."

"And you're sure Treville's guilty?"

"S'what we're gonna find out. He's hiding something, that's for sure."

And with that she was left in his room dizzy with the new information she'd gathered. This was almost worse than watching Jacques freeze her car, getting grabbed by unknown assailants, and forcefully dragged into a big ass facility only to be told she had the source of super powers within her body. Almost.

With a sigh she grabbed one of the dinner plates. Porthos didn't bother to eat his but lugging two around just so Treville had options wasn't going to happen with all of the bullshit flying around. She made it out the door and halfway down the hall when the ground shook and the lights went out.

* * *

When the lights were cut Treville's heart sank into his stomach. Twenty seconds later they were back up and the ground had stopped shaking; alarms were blaring, screaming that something had gone terribly wrong. Flashes of the last time the alarms went off like this spurned Treville to rip the door open, gun drawn.

Had Porthos gone off the deep end and destroyed something? He hadn't a clue what Aramis was feeling about all of this and if he'd managed to convince the kid to turn against them…

The ground shook again, this time the clear sound of an explosion echoed through the halls. He couldn't hear anyone near him; armed personnel should have been racing around, informing him of what exactly was going on.

Another shockwave sent him stumbling. Porthos could bend metal, but these explosions…

No. Something far bigger than an angry Inheritor was at work. Focus, he told himself, find your priorities. Find the Sources; Aramis and Constance were defenseless without an Inheritor. Get them somewhere secure, safe with Porthos preferably. Any trace of the nasty fighting they'd just went through was sure to be moot at this outside threat.

Constance's room was closest and he managed to get halfway there when he started to discover the bodies. Some had bullet holes riddling their bodies, others were crushed underneath rubble, mere splatters of blood against jagged rock and walls. He took a few seconds to process, to take in faces and when he deduced Constance wasn't one of them he turned around. The rubble had completely blocked off the way to her room and he'd need an alternate route.

It happened to involve passing by Porthos and Aramis's rooms and he sent up a prayer of gratitude when he found her cowering against the wall of the hallway connecting the two. She was pale, shaking and muttering something.

"Constance!" He called, taking in the sight of two more bodies crushed at the far end of the hall.

She snapped to attention, blinking away tears. "Treville, oh god, what's happening?"

"I don't know. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" He coughed briefly at some of the dust and debris floating around.

"No, I'm—" She glanced back at the bodies, taking in a shuddering breath, "There was an explosion. I think they're dead."

"Hey, okay, you're going to be fine." He spoke quickly, trying to be as gentle as possible despite the urgency of the situation. "We need to find Aramis and Porthos, alright?"

"He went to find Aramis. He just left—I should have gone with him."

"Listen to me, okay?" He holstered his gun and held her face in both hands. "I don't know who is attacking, but they're inside. They've got guns and we need to move carefully."

"Let's link—we have to link. And I—I know how to shoot. I can do it. Aramis taught me and…" She swallowed thickly and reached for his gun. "Oh god, I'm going to have to shoot someone."

He caught her hand. "Let's wait on that. I'll do the shooting for now, I need you to concentrate on the link. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded and sniffed, wiping at her nose. "I'm really scared."

"I know, I know, but we have to do this."

"Okay."

It took them a couple of minutes to establish the link—partly due to the fact that they were both in danger of either blowing up or being shot and partly because they were moving in the process. They couldn't afford to stay still while Porthos and Aramis were still somewhere outside of their reach.

Four more explosions rippled through the facility as they moved, phasing through rubble to search every nook and cranny. More bodies, more blood, and still no sign of them. It wasn't until Treville shot one of their attackers in the head that he recognized the language on his dog tag—Spanish.

Shoving a million questions aside, he handed Constance his gun, opting for the dead assailants more complicated one. It was five more hallways and three more rooms checked when Treville waved Constance down, both crouching against the wall of the room they'd just phased into.

He could hear the jumbled voices, yelling to each other. He knew a bit of Spanish, not enough to carry a conversation, but enough to understand most of what might have been spoken to him. There were two words that stuck out with stark clarity.

Cuenta atrás.

Countdown.

Bomb. There was a bomb and it was close to going off. Phasing just his head and the barrel of his gun through, he picked off the three men before they knew what had happened. Pulling back he took a moment to breathe.

"There's a bomb; I don't know how long until it's going to go off but they seemed worried about it."

"Shit." It was all she said but it was entirely too on the point. "We have to find them."

"I don't know that we have time."

She slapped him then, hard on the thigh. "Fuck you. We're going to find them and get the hell out of here."

"Constance."

"We can't just leave them. They have to be here somewhere."

"What if they got out? What if they're dead? I need to get you to safety."

"We have to try." She bit her lip hard, her hands shaking around the gun she held. "I won't leave without them."

"Two more minutes." He agreed. "We have to go after that."

"Two minutes." She repeated. "I think I can manage."

Shit. He'd forgotten about the drain. They'd phased through countless walls now and all he'd been focused on was getting to Aramis and Porthos. He was going to end up killing one to save the other.

"I'm sorry, I should have—"

"We don't have time." She cut him off. "C'mon, we have to go."

The blood was slippery on the floor as they did their best to move quickly through rooms and halls. Treville almost missed him amongst the bodies in rubble, looking for signs of life despite the possibility of death. Porthos was half buried, the side of his head covered in blood. A gun was settled in his limp right hand and the still bleeding hole in his left thigh was a telling sign he'd run into the Spanish. Half of the hallway he lay in was destroyed, buried in chucks of concrete and littered with glass.

"Porthos." Constance gasped and kneeled at his side.

"Constance put pressure on the wound." Treville checked for a pulse, relived to find one.

As soon as she put her hands on him, the large man hissed and bucked, gun drawn and pointed at Constance's face. She retreated her hands instantly looking to him in fear. Treville shoved the gun aside.

"Porthos, I know you're hurting but I need to know where Aramis is." The man blinked up at him and Constance reapplied pressure to the wound. He obviously had a concussion. "We don't have time, Porthos! Where is Aramis?"

Porthos only shook his head and whimpered. With desperate fervor Treville launched himself into action, scanning the hall for any sign of a small body. He stumbled through the debris as he phased through it.

Not enough time. They didn't have enough time!

"No, Porthos, stay still."

"Need to find him."

"We can't." Treville felt as if he was going to throw up. "Constance, grab that side."

Together, they lifted him, straining under the weight. Constance didn't say a word, though the small noises of grief and distress seemed louder than the blaring alarms still going off. They phased—all three of them, a feat that would have been an exciting accomplishment—through five walls before they reached fresh air and the cold of a fall afternoon.

It took the last of their strength to haul Porthos up a hill before the strength of the explosion shoved them face first into the ground.


End file.
